Monday, 30 November 2015

Blue Monday special - Ashbless reads poetry!

Coming Together: in Verse is out NOW!

Amazon US :: Amazon UK 

A collection of many many NSFW poems - some absolutely filthy, some romantic, some funny, some melancholy, some deep, some that rhyme and some that don't - this anthology is edited by the amazing performance poet Ashley Lister and raises money for Hope for Paws.


As an extra special treat (!) here's me reading out my poem: On Erotic Vocabulary.


Friday, 27 November 2015

Wednesday, 25 November 2015

Mythological misalliances: the art of Max Pirner

The Sleepwalker
Today's fabulous Victorian/Edwardian artist is a bit of an obscurity, but clearly a man after my own heart. Maxmilian Pirner (1854-1924, and you may need an online translator) was a Czech who loved painting symbolist and mythological subjects, preferably ones with boobies in, and actually did a series on "mythological misalliances" - i.e. sexual mismatches - and if this lot aren't Ashblessy, I don't know what is!

Guess which one's my favourite, ahem?

Here's his take on the triple-goddess of witchcraft Hekate, complete with attributes of moon, flaming torch etc - he knew his stuff.

This grim allegorical piece is called Homo Homini Lupus - "man is wolf to man" and shows the natural world watching in amazement as Humanity (still semi-animal in some characteristics) is raised above them as both god and sacrificial victim.

... I think. Symbolists eh? 

The Temptation of St. Jerome is a good old-fashioned saintly subject, yet somehow I reckon this treatment is not entirely suitable for church display:

He did a few excellent portrayals of Medusa - along with sleepwalkers, she seems to have been a subject that fascinated him:

Here she is again in Finis: the End of all Things

... with Death hanging over her shoulder:

But if you don't want to end on a sombre note, here's The Prey, which is a dark joke ...

The lady leads the ogre home for supper, having successfully captured dragon, knight, and his steed!

Monday, 23 November 2015

Blue Monday: Ian Smith guests

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

This week's sexy snippet is from Ian Smith's new book Knights Errant - first in the Merely Players series.

Lonely widower Paul knows he's ready to move on and start a new relationship, but doesn't expect to meet two attractive and interesting women at the same time. They want to recruit his jousting display team to feature in a TV show.

Becky and Hayley are best friends, as different as chalk and cheese, and both clearly fancy Paul. A decent guy at heart, he hopes to win one without harming their friendship. But the women don't make it any easier when they turn up the heat and leave him wondering what's going on.

A fantastic prize is within his reach. He just has to overcome his deepest fears, self-doubts, and fragile self-confidence. And be Hayley's leading man in the TV show she hopes will make her name. So no pressure. Just take a deep breath and let these two intriguing women lead him way outside his comfort zone.

She opened the door and walked in backwards, towing me by my jacket lapels. I pushed the door shut and we undressed each other hurriedly. I picked her up again and shuffled towards the bed. I managed to lay her down gently, then we hugged, kissed, and explored each other. Her full breasts were sensitive to my touches and kisses, and her pussy tasted hot, salty, and so exciting. Her first orgasm was quick to arrive and clearly intense. She was deliciously vocal as her climax approached and she moaned loudly as she crested.

We cuddled while she got her breath back, then she stroked my cheek. "Come on, you big hunk, fuck me. I've got a coil, so you don't need a condom."

My hard cock slid inside her soft, warm wetness so easily. She felt gorgeous, her pussy hot around my cock, her arms around my back, her legs writhing around my thighs and her tongue against mine. We were both eager in our shared lust and want. I thrust hard, over and over again. She gasped and pushed her hips up against me. Her nails scratched my back and dug into my skin as she came again with loud cries.

"Oh, fuck, that was amazing." She lay back and panted for a few seconds. "You going to fill me or what?"

"Pretty damn soon," I murmured.

"Oh, good." She purred as she wrapped her legs tightly around mine and squeezed my backside with her hands, urging me on. "Just get that cock right into me."

We ground against each other, so I was as deep inside her as I could be. My climax was a burst of intense pleasure as I shot hot pulses into her.

We cuddled and giggled while our sweat dried. We lay on top of the bed in the warm room. The sheet was tangled around my ankles and the duvet had been thrown aside in our haste.

"Wow," she said. "It's years since sex was this much fun. Like being a student again." She leaned her arms across my chest, rested her chin on them, and grinned at me. "Fancy some sparkling wine? I left a bottle in the basin in the bathroom, in cold water."

"Got some glasses?"

"On the table. I'll get the wine," she said.

I watched her scamper across the room. She had a lovely figure, nicely curved, and well worth watching.

She passed me the bottle to open and we stood together, her tucked under one of my arms as we clinked glasses and sipped the wine. Which reminded me of something silly Helen and I used to do.

"Put your glass down," I murmured and took a long sip from my own before putting it down beside hers. I put both arms around her and she grinned up at me. I leaned down to kiss her and let the sparkling wine trickle from my mouth into hers, where it exploded into a fizzy shared experience.

She was startled for a fraction of a second, then burst out laughing. "The bubbles went up my nose."

"Want to try it again?"

"You bet. At least I know what to expect this time."

She giggled as we shared another sip of wine. When we finished the kiss, she looked up at me. "Right, you're in trouble now." She arched an eyebrow. "On the bed please. And no fidgeting."

Intrigued, I lay on the bed. She produced a box of fancy chocolates and opened it, then selected two and put them on my nipples. Then she straddled me, bent down and slowly ate each one, licking and teasing my nipples with her lips as she did. As she moved, her pussy stroked my cock, which started paying attention again.

She placed four more chocolates on my body and slowly ate each one. The fourth was placed on the tip of my cock and it had melted a little before she got around to dealing with it. All I knew was that she had a fantastically exciting way of using her tongue.

"My turn." I gasped, as she released me from a delicious teasing.

She rolled onto her back and I placed chocolates on her nipples, between her breasts, on her tummy and one on her pubic hair just above her clit. Then I held one between my lips and leaned close enough for her to bite half of it. I chewed the other half, then kissed her, which made her giggle again. I took my time eating those on her body, which meant the one near her clit had softened nicely.

"Oh, dear," I said. "This may need some serious work to clean up."

"Oh, dear, indeed." She sounded a little breathless. "We wouldn't want to make a mess of these sheets."

She sighed happily as I enjoyed the chocolate. Then again as I got distracted by her lovely pussy. And that got us both in the mood and very eager again.

She rolled me onto my back and took charge for our second bout of sex. That was slower and really good fun, with tickling, giggles, and laughter. She sat astride my hips and played with her clit until she came. She watched me until the last moment, when she had to close her eyes. Watching her face as she climaxed was a lovely sight. She seemed so carried away. Then she lay on my chest and watched my face intently as she pumped me with her hips until I erupted inside her again. I felt relaxed and happy. I could step further back from the edge of the pit of depression I'd managed to climb out of. This was just like making love, a brief, blissful reminder of what had been. And which seemed a lifetime ago.

Buy Knights Errant at 
Amazon US
Amazon UK
All Romance eBook
Coffee Time Romance
B&N Nook

"I'm a professional scientist by day, aspiring madcap writer in my spare time. After living in various parts of England, I’m now settled in Cornwall, in the south-west of England. Not far from Poldark country...

My education was obviously science-based, but I've always been a keen reader - thrillers, science fiction, fantasy, horror, a few classics, and even some romances.

Scientific papers and technical reports are interesting to write, but one day I knew they weren’t what I really wanted to do. I started writing general interest factual articles and giving public talks. Then I decided to try fiction and joined a constructive critiquing group, whose feedback convinced me to stick at it. My confidence was boosted by having four short stories published in anthologies. Now I’ve gone and written a whole book, I want to write another. Well, okay, lots more..."

Ian Smith on Facebook

Friday, 20 November 2015

Naughty Witchdoctor

The art of the music video is not dead! I've been captivated by two this week. And while not directly erotic, they certainly are inspirational ;-)

The first is a rather beautiful one from Naughty Boy:

This one, from Dutch band De Staat, is not beautiful, but it is spectacular and mesmerising:

Wednesday, 18 November 2015

DVD review: Häxan

Original poster
You may feel I'm running a little late with this, since the movie Häxan (silent, B&W, Swedish intertitles) was released in 1922. And promptly banned in the USA for sex, torture and perversion scenes.

Their standards were quite low.

Take my word for it, there's no reason it should be a 15.
Technically I could have watched it upon its re-release (with a narration by William Burroughs) in 1968, now entitled Witchcraft Through the Ages - but I don't think my Mum would have approved.

It is a brilliant film.

It starts off as a staid documentary trying to explain how the witchcraft superstition and subsequent persecutions arose in Europe. The depictions of medieval scenes are actually quite creditable, though I don't dare pronounce on the mad hats.

The movie then veers off into wild fantasy sequences depicting sabbats and visitations from the devil, utilising the absolute cutting edge of SFX available at the time - prosthetics, animated drawings, stop-motion, puppetry ... and these are all actually pretty good, if quite charmingly unfrightening and tame by modern standards.

OMG - a nude scene!
Then it comes back to earth and spends some time trying to show how superstition, spite, sexual repression and ruthless church corruption combine into a poisonous cocktail that can wipe out entire communities - starting with the wrinkly old ladies, moving on to the young and beautiful, and eventually taking everyone down.

It does star some incredibly wrinkly actors:

What's most heartening is its cynical, scientific approach after all the uber-enthusiastic and very stylish fantasy - it attributes the hallucinations to herbal potions and Hysteria - a diagnosis of mental illness that, interestingly enough, they thought they could establish by its physical symptoms in the 1920s.

Numbness in the back, to be precise
(Of course "Hysteria" is no longer in medical vogue. My social worker mole tells me that nowadays it's "emotionally unstable personality disorder -" and either "impulsive" or "borderline" type.)

But it's the visuals that are most enchanting...

Here's a taster:

You can actually watch the whole thing on Youtube but I do recommend buying it. The DVD I got has both the (longer) original and the narrated 1968 version, with several alternate musical scores.

Monday, 16 November 2015

Blue Monday

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

For personal reasons (of which, more at a later date), today's excerpt is from my novel Wildwood, which is about two modern day mages fighting over a wood with a huge secret, and over the female tree-surgeon who works there.

In this excerpt aborist Avril is doing some extra-curricular night-time tree-climbing:

With one last look around, I pulled off my top and dropped it on the grass, relishing the whisper of the breeze across my skin. My nipples tightened as if in anticipation. I stretched my arms up and jiggled my boobs, bathing them in starlight, intoxicated with my own daring. I dropped my trousers next, leaving them where they lay, creating a trail across the lawn from my back door toward my goal. Grass stubble scratched my ankles.  I shook my behind playfully at the moon. Scents of flowering woodbine and cow parsley and elderflower flowed over me, washing from an area of longer grass and shrubs beyond the tree: a perfume of early summer that I adored.

    My knickers were the last item of clothing to go and then I strode forward naked but for my shoes. I kicked even those off when I got under the canopy of the beech, feeling the husks of last year’s mast prickly beneath my bare soles. I cinched on my harness more by touch than sight and tossed the rope-end over a branch. Climbing naked, I then discovered, wasn’t nearly so comfortable as in padded trousers. Luckily it was a well-furnished tree and after the first scramble I didn’t need the ropes. I kept the harness on though; I liked the feel of the tight belt about my waist and the leg-straps that fitted snugly about my arse-cheeks and between my thighs. The torch I had hanging from a side-loop slapped against my right cheek as if in appreciation of the way the straps framed my backside.

    By the time I got right into the high crown I admit I wasn’t just flushed from the exertion, I was feeling wickedly horny too, adding the thrill of vertigo to the dizzy surge of sexual arousal. Adding to the scents of the night was the perfume of my own body. I found a place where I could plant my feet wide apart on two radiating limbs and hook one arm over a branch near my head. My back was to the trunk and my legs were spread wide, beneath them nothing but a drop of fifty foot to the ground and the cool air that licked at the inside of my thighs. It was as if I were inviting the whole of the night into my open sex.

    Go on, touch me.

  I let my free hand drift down to my clit, stirring the wet itch there to further torment. My lips needed little coaxing to part; I was a night-flowering blossom, heavy with nectar. Shudders of pleasure mounted quickly through my body.  I imagined what would happen if I should let go and slip; how they would find my body in the morning stark naked and legs spread. How shameful that would be, I told myself teasingly. Perhaps Michael Deverick would be the one to find me. I imagined his face stooping over mine, his eyes blazing with dismay and frustration. I imagined what it would be like to be working in the shrubbery alone one day, and then to turn and see him watching me with that lancing gaze. How he’d step forward and peel the tight lycra up my breasts and bend to bite my salty, grateful nipples. How he’d wrench my jeans down and slam me up against a tree-trunk and fuck me long and hard. Sex with him, I was sure, would be deliberate and prolonged; he was a control-freak. My bare arse brushed the bark. Maybe he’d make me get down and lick his cock clean when he’d come. Maybe he’d tie me to the tree with my own ropes and screw me as I strained against my bonds. Maybe he’d bend me over a fallen trunk and fuck my splayed pussy while my hands clawed at the leaf-mould and I screamed for more until the woods rang and everybody on the whole estate knew I was finally getting it, getting it, getting it.

    I came then, riding the storm-surge of chaotic imagery. ‘Woah,’ I breathed, blinking. An owl hooted its wavering call from the wood edge.

    Glowing with pleasure, I worked my way back down to a larger branch and settled myself comfortably. The smooth beech-bark felt cool against my hot pussy. I flicked away a spider that had the cheek to run across my thigh. My feet dangled in space and I swung them idly.

    From here I could see through a broad gap between the leaves, down onto the long weeds that had once been a lawn. The moon had turned it silver, but the shadows beneath the shrubby elders and the far tree line were jet black. When someone came into sight wading through the grass he was clearly visible, and left a dark furrow of bent grasses in his wake.

    I held my breath. For a brief moment – my head addled with moonlight and sensuality - I thought that I’d somehow summoned Michael Deverick. Then I recognised my ginger tree-hugger from Grange Wood. His dreadlocks were unmistakable. He was shirtless, and under that moonlight so pale that he seemed to glimmer, except on his left shoulder where there was a big dark patch.

   ‘What are you up to?’ I muttered under my breath, leaning forward to get a better look. His hands trailed through the flower-heads caressingly. Then my eyes widened as I realised that he wasn’t just shirtless; the waist-high foliage had been hiding the fact that he was naked. At this distance I couldn’t make out any details, but a momentary glimpse of the unbroken line of flank and hip made me certain.

    Bloody hippie, I thought with tolerant disdain. Of course: it was Midsummer’s Eve, wasn’t it? No doubt he was indulging in a bit of pagan nudity for the occasion. If I kept him in sight then I might spy on a bit of sky-clad Morris dancing or whatever it was these people did.    Of course the fact that I was butt-naked myself made it difficult to feel really superior. Then I caught sight of his companions, and I forgot to feel superior at all. My spine crawled.

Hilde Hechle, Moonlight Phantasy (1930)

    They came through the grass as he did, many of them, on either side, but they left no tracks behind them. Some danced, some skulked, and some slithered along barely cresting the grass. They were the same colour as the moonlight on the dappled foliage and it was hard to make them out; my peripheral vision caught the flicker of their movements easily enough but the poor light made them difficult to focus on if I looked directly. I thought some were doglike, some hunched and muscular as buffalo, some slender as gibbons. My eyes itched as I strained to pick them out against the silvery froth of the meadow and through the gaps between the clumps of beech leaves. I could only be certain of glimpses; the scimitar curve of a horn, the flick of an angled ear, the green glint of a pupilless eye. Only Swampy himself seemed to be truly solid. They were absolutely silent, not even the grass whispering as they passed.

    I’m dreaming this, I told myself.

    As they reached the edge of the long weeds and slipped out onto the shorter grass I lost sight of most of them behind the banks of beech leaves, though I was certain that one was a bear with a ruff of grizzled fur. It lifted its blunt muzzle to the air and sniffed and grunted before lumbering onward, out of sight.

    There’ve been no bears in England for centuries.

    The man with the red ’locks seemed in less of a rush than his companions, or perhaps it was only his own crude materiality than caused him to lag behind. One shadowy form dawdled to stay with him, dancing around him in circles that left no trail of bruised grass. She was easier to see as she came close to him, as if he loaned her some focus; a naked girl, whip-thin, with wild hair down to her shoulders and something twiggy protruding from that hair over her temples. I thought it might be a tiara until I realised it was branched horns she wore on her head, like the horns of a roebuck. He laughed and brushed her face with his fingertips. She twirled for him, head thrown back, blocking his progress with her slim body, twining her arms about his neck then turning her back to bump her arse against his groin. The invitation was unmistakable and he put his hands about her waist. She wriggled up against him, arching her back and grinding her bum into his crotch, writhing her head back against his shoulder. What man could resist that sort of offer?

  I felt warmth flicker into renewed life in my own sex. They were up to their hips in grass and I couldn’t see any detail, but from the set of their bodies it was clear enough what was going on. He braced his thighs and took what was being offered to him, hoisting her hips so that he could sheathe himself in her from behind. I squirmed on my branch. She arched forward and he had to lean back to balance her, his hands gripping hard on her hips, his thighs working with deliberation. She made a noise like the yawn of a cat and writhed her bum in ecstatic circles. I drank in the sight with furtive, guilty fascination: the shimmy of her tiny breasts, the gape of her lips, the smooth hollow between his hip and thigh, the hunch of his strong shoulders as he pumped into her.

  Bereft of those baggy clothes he was a lot more toned than I’d given him credit for. Good, strong arms, I thought. He was almost beautiful.

She was bent right forward now, nearly double, her arse thrust high under the moon. I’d never hope to be so lithe myself. It gave me a good view of his naked torso though, and the sheen on his taut belly as he thrust. He shifted one hand from her hip to clap it against her bum-cheek, clearly relishing the sound of skin on skin.

  Dirty boy, I breathed. My pubic mound was pressed against the unyielding branch and leaking onto the bark. This voyeurism was entirely new to me, and the fact that spying on them was making me hot filled me with delicious shame. I could actually hear both of them panting. I watched each thrust and imagined what it might feel like as he quickened toward his goal, his movements jagged and frantic until he groaned and lurched, grabbing her tight, his muscles locked.

  He was one of those blokes who really show it when they come. I like that so much in a man.

  Then she changed. I didn’t see the moment of transformation; I only know that when she lifted her head next there was nothing human about it. It was the head of a hind on the long neck of a deer, her fur as white as her skin had seemed only a moment before. Her velvet-tipped antlers tossed skittishly. For a moment he froze – as shocked, I assumed, as me. I forgot how to breathe. She kicked and bucked and danced out of his grasp so that he staggered and nearly keeled over, skipping around him in ever-widening circles, and from one spring to another I couldn’t tell if it was a deer or a woman tossing her antlered head and laughing at him in great silvery peals.

  I shut my eyes and pressed my forehead to the tree, clinging to its solidity.

Buy 'Wildwood' at Amazon US
Buy 'Wildwood' at Amazon UK
Buy 'Wildwood' at Google Play
Buy 'Wildwood' at iTunes

Saturday, 14 November 2015

More ecclesiastical weirdry

Yes, I've been back to the 19th century, apparently

I've been travelling a bit these last few weeks so I thought I'd post some amusing and bizarre shit* from churches in Europe. No saintly corpses this time round though, sorry :-(

(* I'm being literal about the 'shit,' as you will see)

In the Oude Kirk in Amsterdam there are some crazy C16th carvings in the misericords (seats) of the choir:

"Two heads under one hood" - a proverb meaning two people who agree on everything

"You can't shit gold" - Money doesn't grow on trees!

She's doing SOMETHING to his arse - I thought whipping it, but one source says she is gathering up his turds, illustrating the proverb "Pull lightly on a weak rope" (!)
I think this means "Don't let your cat read grimoires under the bedclothes"
In St Peters' Abbey in Salzberg, there's a Dance of Death in the grounds:

This made me so happy

and the holy water basins are bat-winged skulls:

Not even slightly disturbing at all, no, not at all

In Salzberg Cathedral the plasterwork is full of evil faces:

And AS FOR THE CRYPT ... OMG! The Angel of Death!


Yes, the crypt is given over to terrifying little shadow puppets because... um's Good for Your Soul

But the best find has to be a wax effigy of the dead Christ in the Cathedral Treasury. Not just dead, but cut open to reveal his intricately modeled intestines. I think I must have skipped that bit in Sunday School...

What the ...?

Wednesday, 11 November 2015


Friday just got Blacker -
Don't be a shopping slacker!
This book by Ashley Lister
Will give you fapping blister(s)
So buy it, not something worse:
Coming Together in Verse! *

We have a release date for Coming Together: in Verse - it's the 27th of November! Black Friday!

The Poets:
Ashley R Lister, Alessia Brio, Victoria Blisse, Rachel Woe, Janine Ashbless, Liz Honeywell, AJ Chilson, Roy Clements, Katy J, Ashe Barker, Lisa Bower, PJ Bayliss, Geneva Rose, Jay Willowbay, Slave Nano, Lily Harlem, Kay Jaybee, KD Grace, Norbert Gora, IG Fredrick, Jade A Waters, Adrea Kore, Bella Settarr, Okami No Koga, Daniel Davis, Joanna Harrington-Cruise, Sophia Sophia, Le Petite Mortimer, Eleanor Meadows, Angell Brooks, L Hollamby, Blacksilk, CA Bell, Ian Jade, Tamsin Flowers, Ruby Red, Colin Davies, Desmond Field, Rachel McGladdery

* I can absolutely guarantee that all the book poems are much better than this one.

Monday, 9 November 2015

Blue Monday: Victoria Blisse guests

Every Monday I post a naughty episode for your enjoyment!

Today my guest is the incredible ever-busy smut entrepreneur Victoria Blisse, with an excerpt from her new book Good Manors, which promises "a glimpse behind the scenes of the aristocracy including its seedier side", and "a novel with twists, turns, secrets and steaming hot erotic encounters."

India Grace, a respected journalist, is assigned to the estate for a behind the scenes look at how it runs. It is the last place in the world she wants to be. Back when she was young and naïve she took a photo of old Lord Mallard, which led to her success and his downfall. She carries the guilt with her to the location and it’s constantly in the back of her mind when she meets the hall’s latest owner, Xander Patrick.

Xander’s father died when he was only thirteen, and he doesn’t hold many good memories of him. He helped his mum build Mallard Hall back up, and since her death struggles to keep it going single-handedly. The last thing he needs is a meddling journalist poking into estate business, especially when the meagre profits are mysteriously disappearing.

The two try to keep their distance but find themselves drawn together in many unexpected ways. A meal leads to an investigation of secret passageways and from that India and Xander explore their attraction, using different rooms of the hall for their kinky games.

In the end India’s secret will have to come out, but will it bring the couple closer together or tear them apart?

 I kissed with gentle purpose, the curls tickling my lips and nose. Her thighs fell wider the farther I journeyed over her skin. I didn’t know if it was a conscious move but it encouraged me lower, faster. Her warm fragrance made my senses reel with desire. She smelled of soft, warm bread and honey. I wanted to dive in and eat her up, to savor those flavors.

It was all about teasing her, showing her who was boss without restraint or punishment, and I wasn’t going to rush. Darting my tongue down between her lips, I felt the bump of her clit then pulled back. She wriggled and gasped then lifted her hips to encourage me to do the same thing again. I didn’t.

I ran my hands up the backs of her thighs and gently encouraged her to settle her legs over my shoulders. She was wide open to me and I peppered kisses along one of her lips, careful not to graze her clit but to keep to the plump, juicy lip until it tapered out, then I kissed up the opposite one.

I continued this game until she arched her back and groaned with frustration. It was a test of my patience too. I wanted to properly eat her, bury my face and get lost in the scent and the taste of her, but it wasn’t about my satisfaction, it was about driving her wild with lust.

I blew across her wetness.

“Oh, please,” she groaned.

“Please what?” I asked, then blew again, directing the breeze across her clit.

“Please, Sir.”

“What do you want?” I asked, lifting my head and looking along her body, taking in the tortured look on her face. She shook her head from side to side, battling with herself about voicing her desires.
“Tell me, India, what do you want?”

She opened her eyes and held my gaze for a few seconds. It was only when she closed them that she spoke.

“Please make me come, Sir.”

“Good girl.” I stroked her thigh as I praised her. “How shall I make you come?”

“Any way you like, Sir.” She gasped and shuddered under my touch.

“That’s a good answer, India, but how would you like me to make you come? What do you want me to use?”

“Oh God, Sir.” She shook her head and scrunched up her eyes. “Your mouth, please, I want to come on your lips, your tongue. Please, Sir.”

“That’s better.” I smiled and bent once again, giving her exactly what she wanted, exactly what I  wanted. Her heat overwhelmed my senses, she burned my lips in the most erotic way, her intimate folds pulling against my mouth, rubbing, creating friction and yet more heat.

I made sure to lap at her clit, teasing the soft, silky protrusion with gentle licks. With each lash of my tongue it hardened further. India strained against me, her flesh pressing against my ears. I could still hear her moans and gasps, though, and felt her muscles tensing, her buttocks lifting off the table to push more of her into my mouth.

I pulled back from her clit and lapped at her slit. She tasted sublime—chocolate, fresh bread and apples. She was the tastiest, most satisfying meal. I wanted to eat her forever. India keened with frustration as I left her clit—well, I’d say high and dry but it wasn’t, she was soaked—and I continued to focus lower down. I teased her lips, her sweet entrance, and reveled in her frustrated gasps and the fevered pumping of her hips.

Eventually I took pity, mostly because I wanted her orgasm, I craved it. Teasing her had been fun but I needed her pleasure. I returned my mouth to focus over her clit, sucking lightly and undulating my tongue over and around it. Her hips shot up and she ground her pussy against my face, pushing my nose into her flesh, surrounding me with her wet muskiness.

She was loud, so loud that I could hear her chants through the soft flesh of her clinging thighs. I kept the same rhythm with my tongue, letting her climb and shudder. I knew she was so very close and to deny her would be catastrophic.

She clamped around my head and she roared her completion, her wetness enveloping me. I clung on for dear life, lapping gently until she relaxed, her thighs dropping away, letting me up for air. I pulled away from the heat of her cunt and licked my lips. I was so hard I couldn’t think of anything else but fucking her.

Victoria Blisse is a mother, wife, Christian, Manchester United fan and award winning erotica author. She is also the editor of several Bigger Briefs collections, and the co-editor of the fabulous Smut Alfresco, Smut in the City and Smut by the Sea Anthologies.

Victoria is also one of the brains behind the fabulous Smut events, days and nights dedicated to erotica, fun and prizes.
She is equally at home behind a laptop or a cooker and she loves to create stories, poems, cakes and biscuits that make people happy. She was born near Manchester, England and her northern English quirkiness shows through in all of her stories. Passion, love and laughter fill her works, just as they fill her busy life.

You can find often find Victoria procrastinating on Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest 
To find out more check out her website