Wednesday, 17 January 2018

"A conclusion with a bang of near-apocalyptic intensity"

The Other Side (1918) Dean Cornwell

"The cold, hard, commercial truth of the matter is that without reviews, a book simply languishes on the shelf and ultimately dies for want of notice" - How to Write a Review and Why, Maybe, You Should

And I'm particularly delighted that TAS of Erotica for the Big Brain should write a review of The Prison of the Angels, because it's FABULOUS!
"As always, Ashbless ties it all together with such style, such flare, conveying a sense of inevitability—of ineluctable right-ness—with the plot’s every twist and turn, it’s hard to imagine all hell breaking loose in any other way, Or near half so excitingly, for that matter! Of course, throughout, the sex is wicked hot...
In The Prison of the Angels, as in the books that preceded it, Janine Ashbless has created an extraordinary new world, a “real realm of the spirit” that is a sheer pleasure to visit. Enthusiastically recommended."

Thank you TAS!

Buy-links for The Prison of the Angels

Monday, 15 January 2018

Blue Monday: Rebecca Branch guests

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

For the first Blue Monday Guest Post of 2018 I am delighted to welcome Rebecca Branch, historian and lover of all things Roman, with an excerpt from her century-spanning time-travel romance novel, Great Ceasar's Ghost. The second book in a series, but a stand-alone novel, this book takes the reader to Paris, London, Rome, Berkeley, New York, and the North Atlantic as it wends its way through the fabric of time.

An archaeological find of great note, the personal belongings of Gaius Julius Caesar, sets the stage as a young curator from the Metropolitan Museum in New York discovers he is connected to Caesar by blood and can travel time at his own discretion.

Amassing a fortune through hindsight and stock purchases, Max DuPont sets his sights on meeting his famous ancestor in ancient Rome, but first, he finds the girl of his dreams, an honors student at Harvard. The problem, she lives her life twenty years before Max was born. This story takes you on a harrowing trip where the characters must correct fissures in time and set the world on its preordained course. Written as a romantic adventure with the ebb and flow of historical people and places, Great Caesar’s Ghost is a joyous, smart and sexy read.

In this excerpt Max, having gone back to 1955, meets a lawyer and his trophy wife and accepts their invitation to stay in their Park Avenue apartment. He is alone with Sally, who is lost and forgotten by her husband, when joins him as he showers:

Moving with care, I admitted the tip and circled him with my tongue. The texture is amazing. I tried to slide down further and he swiveled his hips and pumped into my mouth a couple of times, then held still again. I guessed that he wanted me to pump on him in the same way so I pushed down and then back up again and he sighed. Oh God, he’s enjoying this too. I’m so happy. I pulled off and tried to see it clearly, but the darkness only permitted a silhouette. Stroking him with both my hands, I placed my mouth over him again and went down as far as I could. I doubt I managed a third of his length before he hit the back of my throat, but it was an amazing thing to do and I repeated the motion over and over.

He caressed the back of my head and stroked my hair as I started to move back and forth with more determination. For the first time in my life, I was the active partner making love to a man and I reveled in it. I’d never have dreamed of being so aggressive if not for him. He approved of me. He likes the person I am. Oh, look at his face. He’s enjoying himself so much because of my actions. Why is taking a man to my lips so forbidden in my mind? What’s wrong with it? This is terrific and should be a regular part of lovemaking. Who’d of thought…my, my.

“I’m going to cum Sally.”

He’s what? Going to what?

He began to throb and spasm between my lips and his warm silky flow filled my mouth. Oh my God, he’s having his orgasm in my mouth! Oh my God! I held perfectly still and felt my mouth filling with his emission. He started to gently pump his hips and his penis continued to throb between my lips. He moaned and moaned, squeezing my shoulders and calling my name. Oh, Max. This is insane! This is amazing, warm and viscous, milky yet savory. Fill my mouth, Max. Fill it to overflowing. This is for you. It’s all for you. Whatever you want, whatever you need, I’ll be your vehicle. I’ll do anything to keep you. I’m so happy, Max.

I stroked my hands over his length and squeezed out the last drops of his flow. It was fantastic. How I loved bringing him here! But now…what do I do with it? I pulled off and tilted my head down, opened my mouth, and let it all fall to the shower floor. What a strange taste. How unusual. Food of the Gods, I thought. I could still taste his flow. I rolled my tongue within my mouth and savored the remnants of his passion, suddenly wondering if I should have swallowed it. Oh my goodness. I want to do that again.

“That was great. Oh God, that was great! A real first for me, but ended way too quickly. I can’t believe you just had an orgasm in my mouth! In my mouth, Maxi! I feel so wicked. That was so unthinkable. Now I suppose I’ll have to wait an hour to get a chance to enjoy myself some more. You will love me some more? Won’t you, Max?”

He grabbed the back of my head again, threading his long, supple fingers through my wet hair and pulled my face up to his, lifting me to my feet by my hair. God how masculine and forceful; never hurting me, but always demanding I go where he goes and do what he wants. Lord almighty, I love being dominated by him. I had no idea, none whatsoever. This is what it’s supposed to be like between a man and a woman. This is what I’ve been missing all my life. My eyes closed and he bit down on my lower lip, gently but firmly. Opening my mouth slightly, he released my lip and kissed me full on my lips. Wow, nothing taught and tentative about his kisses. There is an elasticity in the way he uses his mouth. We explored with our tongues and I was sure he could taste the remnants of his own emission. He evidently had no problem with this so why should I be concerned.

Goodness, I love how he handles me, how he directs me. He grabs my hair, lifts me to my feet and bites down on my skin and lips. How powerful and masculine he is and how I’m responding to him is beyond belief. He’s taught me how to kiss, how to act and react instead of being passive. He’s made me lustful; so lustful that I’ve put his penis in my mouth and drawn his climax onto my tongue. Oh my God, that was terrific, utterly sinful. I want to do it again. I want to do it again right away.

I’m falling in love with this man. I am in love with this man! One day…one day of knowing him. God my life must be a train wreck if one day alone can have this effect. I need to change things. I really must change things around.

Pushing me back down into the bench, he got down on his knees between my legs, spreading them apart. I did not resist this time. He could have whatever he wanted. He cupped my breasts and circled his tongue around my nipples. How sensitive they were; more so than ever before, and I caressed the back of his head as he did this. Bending lower, he spread my folds and ran his tongue up my cleft, circling around my center of pleasure and drawing a series of moans out of me immediately. I can’t believe he’s doing this! Oh God, what this says…what this means!

“Oh, Max, what a modern man you are. Mmmm, what a fantasy.” I pushed myself into the corner of the shower bench, back against the tiled wall, and lifted one foot up on the bench as I pressed his head into me. My hands came down and cradled his head, my fingers threaded through his wonderfully long hair, as I pulled and pushed him into me. He let me direct his motions, following my lead as I tilted his face this way and that. My God, my God! I have a lover whose face is in my vagina! He’s eating me alive, he is. How can this be?

He looked up and I could die looking into those eyes; eyes of need and want. He wasn’t doing this just for me. He loved this. I was his feast!

“Sally, you don’t have to be gentle. Always be a participant. Always take what you want. Mash my face into your pussy. Rub yourself into me. Grind your sex into my face. Suffocate me Sally.”

He took a breath and went back at me with a fervor and I got up on my knees on the bench and pulled his face tight into me, rotating my hips and holding his head tight with both hands. I rocked back and forth, back and forth, rubbing myself against his lips and the stubble on his chin. He buried his face in me and seemed to have no limitations when it came to my own pleasure. Again, I could feel the rising again. I was about to crest up against his beautiful face, pulled tight to my sex. Oh my God, how can this be? I’d given up on any reservations I might have had and grabbed his hair and stuffed my muff into his face as I exploded all over him. The throbbing continued for so long and I thought I’d faint from the expenditure of all my energy and passion. I released his hair, yet he continued to lap at me, sucking all the juices from me and stealing the soul from my body. What pleasure. What unbridled pleasure and release. I reveled in the knowledge that I had finally found a lover. Had Max not come to me, I may never have been to this place, this place of warmth and heat and ecstasy.

Buy Great Caesar's Ghost at:
Amazon US
Amazon UK

Rebecca Branch lives in New York and is the mother of two grown daughters. Professionally, she is an architect, but she trained in Art History and Archaeology in her youth at UC Berkeley for her undergraduate degree and Columbia University for her Ph.D. Although she modeled occasionally for Donna Karan and Calvin Klein while in college and up into her early thirties, her first professional job out of school was as an assistant to the curator of Greco-Roman Art at the Metropolitan Museum in New York. She lectures on the architecture and town planning of the Roman Empire and practices interior design and architecture at an international firm based in New York City.

Art Historian Superhero Facebook Page
Amazon Author Page

Friday, 12 January 2018


A new historical heroine - well, two if you count the artist!

Timoclea of Thebes (1659) by Elisabetta Sirani of Bologna
 The story of Timoclea of Thebes deserves to be better known, not just because she does a feminine Leonidas -

Well, well, well

- but because she both revenges herself on her rapist, and outfaces Alexander the Great.

Timoclea was an aristocratic woman of the walled city of Thebes in Greece, when it was overthrown by Alexander of Macedon. It was a brutal defeat; the Greek soldiers slaughtered about 6000 inhabitants and enslaved 30,000. A Thracian captain (the Thracians were vassals of Alexander) raped Timoclea and then asked her whether she had any treasure hidden away anywhere. "Sure," she said; "I hid it all down this well, over here in the garden." When the dumbass bent over to look, she pushed him in and dropped heavy rocks on him until he was dead. Of course the Thracians took Timoclea captive and dragged her before Alexander, outraged at her unsporting behaviour.

Alexandre et Timoclée (1782) byJean-Charles Nicaise Perrin
Timoclea stood up before the conqueror and basically told him she didn't give a shit. Her brother Theagenes, she told him, had been the last commander of the Theban Sacred Band (an elite force of homosexual couples) who had stood up against Alexander's father Philip at the Battle of Chaeronea in 338 BC and had died "for the liberty of Greece". (Trans: "fuck you, Alex")

Now that's courage! And Alexander was so impressed that not only did he waive any punishment, he ordered Timoclea and her children freed.

And the artist of the pic at top? Here's her self-portrait:

Elisabetta Sirani (1638-1665) was a woman painter, one of the most famous in Italy at the time, and the teacher of other painters both male and female at the school she founded. She was incredibly prolific, producing about 200 painting before her tragically early death at the age of twenty-seven. In fact she was so prolific that she had to stage a demonstration in front of her detractors to prove that yes, she could knock out a portrait that fast.

You can find more of her work and her life story here

Of course, like many other women painters of the Renaissance, she did a hardass Judith and Holofernes picture:

(Some while back I did a fairly extensive post on artistic depictions of the biblical heroine Judith - "virtuous and godly heroine - avenging proto-feminist icon - sadistic femme fatale".)

As Sirani would say: THIS IS BOLOGNAAAAAA! 😀

Wednesday, 10 January 2018


I'm British. A terrible weakness for puns has been imprinted onto what passes for my brain by the all-dominating national culture, particularly the news media:

And yes that includes the BBC, that bastion of respectability:

In fact there seems to be some law that every hairdresser in the land HAS to have a goddawful punning name:

And this chippy is but five minutes from my house:

I admit to several punny titles for my short stories over the  years: Going Out with a Bang: The Icing on the Cake: Issues and Returns: Grinding. But John the cover artist for my soon-to be-republished story howled in complaint at this one!

I don't know what his problem is!

The best title I ever saw for an erotic story, btw, was Exes and Whys - which I believe was by Nikki Magennis. Puns don't have to be crude double-entendres ...

But it doesn't hurt 😜

Monday, 8 January 2018

Blue Monday

Every Monday I post a wicked excerpt for your entertainment!

My third collection of short stories, Fierce Enchantments, was re-released by Sinful Press right at the end of last year, so here's an excerpt from my story The Military Mind, which is a torrid alien bug-hunt/gangbang with psionics.

Peyton has been assigned to Lammergeier Squad as their Pslider - a mix of psychic communications operative and sex mascot.

“So. You’re pretty,” Sergeant Jomoa announced. “Looks like we got lucky, boys.”

“I’m ready to get lucky!” laughed one of the men, swaggering in from the side with his hand already rummaging vigorously down his shorts. Peyton glanced sideways at him just as he popped his cock out. The tip looked ruddy and glistening. She shied away, her cheeks filling with blood.

“Stow that, Hayes,” the sergeant grunted.

“Sarge!” he complained.

“You’ll get some, don’t worry. All in good time.” His gaze flicked back to Peyton, weighing her up. “You never seen a man’s dick, Corporal?”

“Yes, of course,” she said huskily.

“Of course?” His eyebrows shot up. “Lots of them, then?”

“Well… pictures. Vids.”

He grinned, and there was laughter all round. It wasn’t very kind laughter. She wavered, heavy-limbed with dread. She’d been brought up by women, among women. Men were all in the military. There was precious little opportunity to meet any man who wasn’t crippled, aged or an officer, even if she had been allowed to socialise freely; even if potential Psliders weren’t kept confined in their training schools, their lives regulated around the clock. These men felt almost as alien to her as the Spiders. Their bulkiness, their rowdiness, their loud voices… even the smell of them was unfamiliar. It made her hair prickle and her palms sweat.

“Vids, huh?” The sergeant patted his thigh and she stepped in closer. “You like watching them?”

Watching them was a compulsory part of her training. Why then, did she squirm inwardly as she answered him? “Yes, Sergeant.”

“Well, that’s something. Let me see those tits, Corporal.”

So, this is it.

She pulled up her grey cotton top, so that her breasts jutted out from beneath. Her aching nipples were hard as bullets now, and aimed right at his head. She saw him lick his lips, and for a moment he seemed lost for words.

“Fuckin’ A,” said one of the others happily. They were all on their feet, all watching. She felt the flush steal down from her cheeks over her breastbone. Her tits quivered with every breath.

“I want me some of that!”

“Fuck yeah. It’s been… way too long.”

“Come on, Sarge!”

“Shush.” Sergeant Jomoa put his warm and callused hand between her knees and drew it up the inside of her thigh, all the way to her cotton panties. Gently, he pressed the edge of that hand up against the cloth. “So you never been fucked?”

“I… uh.” The gentle rubbing of his fingers along her shielded pussy seemed to rob her of words. The cloth was moist with sweat and lube and anticipation, and clung to her as he pressed it in. “I’ve trained on the machines… Sergeant.”


She cleared her throat. “You know.”

“Yeah, I know. We’ve got our own machines.” His fingers slid under the fabric of her panties and found her wetness as he added, with a hint of bitterness, “We’re not permitted any real women other than our squad Pslider.”

“Uh,” she whimpered, his slick touch on her clit making her squirm. “I excelled on the machines, Sergeant. Extra credit.”

“That’s good.” He withdrew his hand, an appraising glint in his dark eyes, and sat back in the chair, spreading his thighs. The fabric of his shorts was stretched tight, the fly already gaping to reveal a great curved mass of flesh rising beneath. “So show me. Show me how you earned that extra credit, Corporal.”

Pleasing him was her only way forward. She dropped to her knees and, fumbling a little with the unfamiliar clothes, freed his cock from its constraints. But all her hours of diligent study hadn’t prepared her for this, though she’d worked her way through every colour and size of dildo presented as an option. The real thing wasn’t just big; it was hairy—nested in thick curls, hairy around the balls, hairs even growing up the shaft from the root, like outriders for an army. And it was hot, and a little sticky, and it had a taste totally unlike the plastic and disinfectant she was used to, and it moved—responding to her touch like a live thing, which she supposed it was, in a way—twitching and swelling and stiffening. It seemed immensely thick. Making her mouth wet, she engulfed it, and the sergeant put both hands on her head and pushed deep into her. She felt his bulk nudge the back of her mouth and she heard the rumbling sigh of his satisfaction.

“Not bad, Corporal,” he said, as her head rose and fell in his lap, and she licked and sucked with each stroke. His deep voice had dropped to a huskier note. Then his fingers tightened in her hair. “But if you want to graduate with honours, you need to do this…” he added, pushing her down hard on his erect cock, shoving right into her throat.

She opened up to him. That was something she had practised. She let him do the work and slide her up and down, fucking her throat. His cock was so thick that she knew her jaw would be aching before he was done, but that was a pain she could cope with. Her head whirled with the scent and the taste and the heat of him—so much so that she hardly noticed her panties being pulled down to half-mast behind her or the stiff dick slapping against her splayed bottom. The voices above her were made indistinct by the sergeant’s palms over her ears. Not until her ass-cheeks were parted by rough hands and that dick bounced into the cleft between, rubbing up eagerly against her, did she whimper anxiously.

But the sergeant noticed. He stopped her mid-stroke, allowing her to draw breath through her nose. “You ruining my fine view, Hayes?” he asked.

“I couldn’t help it, Sarge. She was winking at me—look!”

Hayes demonstrated by poking the whorl of her butt-hole with his fingertip. Her ass was well-lubed and exceptionally well-trained, and that digit sank into her without resistance. The sensation—that electric ripple of invasion—was in no way diminished though, and Peyton uttered a muffled squeal around the thick length of NCO rod in her mouth.

“I think she likes it, Sarge,” said Hayes, circling his finger in her anus and making her wriggle.

“You’re no gentleman, soldier,” the sergeant growled. “You haven’t even been introduced and you’re up her ass.” He sat up, pushing Peyton off his cock. She gasped for breath. “Line up, you dirty horndogs, and stand to attention.”

Sunday, 7 January 2018

Oh my goddess!

I came upon this wonderful little movie clip yesterday - click through to Facebook to see the whole thing as I can't post it here - Blogger and FB aren't friends.

It's based on gifs of ancient and prehistoric goddess figures by Nina Paley, which she has released into the public domain - See them all on her website because they are awesome!

Nina is the creator of Sita Sings the Blues and other goddess-themed animations - check her stuff out:

The Golden Calf (Return of the Goddess) from Nina Paley on Vimeo.

Friday, 5 January 2018

On the twelth day of Christmas...

Background: our elderly greyhound Caspian has been sleeping peacefully under the Xmas tree all holiday.

Today, as I cheerfully uttered the fateful words "I'm going upstairs now to do some writing," to my husband (who was lying gripped by a migraine), I opened the curtains and tried to step back over the dog, between the sofa and the tree.

I failed. The tree went flying. A bucketful of water hit the carpet. Mr Ashbless leapt up from his bed of pain and grabbed the tree. The bloody dog just lay there as I flailed around trying to swab up the water with towels. Eventually we forced him to his feet and out of the way.

"What did you do that for, you stupid monkey?"

Grumpily, Caspian tottered into the kitchen, took one look at the closed back door, and pissed ALL OVER THE LINO just to show us how much he disapproved of being disturbed.

Xmas is officially OVER!

Wednesday, 3 January 2018

Cover reveal: In Appreciation of Their Cox

Here's the cover for the second of my self-published works, which I intend to release this month!

In Appreciation of Their Cox is a rollicking rowing-club gang-bang. It was originally printed by Ellora's Cave in 2010 but has reverted to me and will be available for FREE as it's only 10K or so. You'll note that this cover is red for Erotica, not blue for Romance 😛

"Eight tall, muscular men straining every sinew, and one itty-bitty young woman urging them on with all her might. That’s rowing for you."

old cover

Sunday, 31 December 2017

Happy New Year!

To all my friends, readers, reviewers  and fellow writers - wishing you hope and joy and peace in the year to come!


Friday, 29 December 2017

2017 in the rearview mirror

This is my annual post where I look back at the cultural touchstones of the year.

Best Movie:

I watched 20 movies on the big screen in 2017 - a rather low number for me (and TBH we intend to see Jumanji this week, but somehow I suspect it won't be a major highpoint). In retrospect the five I enjoyed the most were (in order):

Worst movie of the year? Hands-down it was Valerian and the city of a thousand planets, a SF wannabe-epic-that-just-looks-embarrassingly-dated that I believe I described on Facebook as "a gilded turd".

Book of the Year:

It was about time I got round to this:

And it did not disappoint. Fascinating and eye-opening in its detail, it is also (I believe) profound in its insights and supremely relevant to the world regime we find ourselves in now.

Best TV:

Two standouts this year: hard SF masterpiece The Expanse on Netflix:

And we started trekking through the whole of Breaking Bad on boxed set too. I'm loving it!

Best Music:

I belatedly discovered Muse. Don't laugh.

Quote of the Year:

May we all persist through 2018...

Sunday, 24 December 2017

Friday, 22 December 2017

Blogtour roundup #3

Frantisek Kobliha, Cosmic Vision (1946)
So, falling through the vast and starry void, I come at last to the end of The Prison of the Angels blogtour - and what a way to end it, with this wonderful 5-star review from author Kate Douglas:

"Of course, my main thought was, “How the hell is she going to pull this one off?”

I should have known that an author this talented would find a way, and she does. Perfectly. The trip to the finish is like a roller coaster ride through Hell as, one by one, the cadre of fallen angels are released from their bonds; creatures not human, and yet guilty of so many human foibles. As the story played out, scene by heart-wrenching scene, I wondered how it would end, how the author would pull together so many terrible events. I really shouldn’t have worried, but I’m not going to give any hints of anything, other than to say this entire series is something that will stay with you, and might, in some ways, even change the way you think about heaven and earth."

Full review on Amazon 

This week's blogtour organised by Writer Marketing Services

On Monday I was hosted by the Brit Babes for a post about how to use your writerly "mistakes" to expand your characters.

Pick a Genre has an exclusive reveal of the preface of The Prison of the Angels, so you can get a headstart on the book!

Here come more pantsing confessions: at Erotica 4 All I list 10 things I didn't know when I started writing the trilogy.

Jacqui Brocker has interviewed ME (not one of my characters, lol!)

And today at K D Grace's blog I talk about using the filthiest verses I could find in the Bible.

DON'T FORGET - all the Writer Market Services blogposts above  have a Rafflecopter Giveaway going on too - enter to win an Amazon Voucher!

And on the 23rd Day she rested 😜
(because she had an awful cold and she hadn't got any of her Xmas prep done yet, AARGH)

Wednesday, 20 December 2017

From the wood:

Some more spy-camera pics from our wood to prove that we do have BADGERS, yay!

We also have a FOX:


Check out the colour variations!

And we have MUNTJAC DEER:

As well as the usual pheasants and grey squirrels of course:

No wonder all my saplings have been eaten 😛

We've also seen hares run through, but no pics  yet.