Monday, 6 July 2015

Blue Monday - S J Smith guests

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment! Today's excerpt is from the brand-new erotic detective novel Peeper by SJ Smith. This is the launch book from new publisher Sinful Press, and a sign - I hope - of many good things to come!


Adam Jenks Jenkins’ carefree life as a small-time private investigator is about to get very complicated.

There’s something ‘off’ about his new client, but work is hard to come by in the Welsh town of Llanrhos, and the return is far above his usual paygrade. All he has to do is find a mystery woman and retrieve a set of sexually explicit photographs. Sounds easy. Too easy.

Jenks’ sanity is tested as the case drags him ever deeper into the dangerous world of Veronica Tailor, where blackmail, seduction and threats of violence run rife.

Even his home life is affected as his wife’s obsession with Veronica sends her libido into overdrive.

Will Jenks ever solve the case?

Will his wife become a lesbian?

Will he ever manage to get some sleep?

 “How about a nice kiss?” she offered, and puckered her lips.

“A kiss? No deal. This photograph is dynamite. I’m going to need way more than a simple kiss.”

Kate frowned. “I did let you grope my boobs just now.”

“Sorry, the boob groping doesn’t count. That was then; this is now.” He scratched his chin and looked up at the ceiling as if he were wracking his brain. “How about a golden shower? Tie me up and piss all over my face.”

“Eww, Jenks, don’t be so gross.” She screwed up her face in disgust, like he knew she would. He smiled, pretending he was only joking, but deep down inside he wasn’t joking at all ‒ it was one of those depraved fantasies that would never see the light of day. “I’ll show you my tits, and you can lick my nips for ten seconds,” Kate continued, and teasingly lifted the hem of her vest as high as the underside of her breasts.

“Anal sex,” Jenks countered.

“No way, Jose.”

“I could insist – I could cash in my anal card.” Upstairs in his bedside locker he had a handmade voucher, signed by Kate, which offered dirty anal sex upon redemption. She gave it to him for Christmas in lieu of being able to afford a present.

“Anal takes ages, we don’t have time.” Kate leaned back in her chair. “How about I show you my tits and touch your willy?” She pulled her vest higher, almost revealing her nipples.

“Your boobs are like a gift from heaven, and I love them … I truly do. But I’m thinking that, if you want to persuade me to show you this highly sensitive and compromising document, I’m going to need something more.”

“Compromising? You never said it was compromising.” She closed her eyes, leaned her head back and pulled her vest hem slightly higher.

“Oh God, yes. It’s highly compromising. And did I mention it contains a graphic depiction of a sexual act?”

She tore her vest as high as her chin and pushed her shoulders back so her puffy pink nipples stood up hard as hell. “I have to see it.”

Jenks admired her tits. “I’m afraid I’m going to need a little more.”

“What do you mean more? You don’t mean?” She put on the coy act that always drove him crazy. “You don’t mean you want to look at my …” her big blue eyes glanced down at her groin, “… at my pussy?”

“I’m afraid I do, Mrs Jenkins. I’m afraid that if you’re going to insist on seeing this photograph, then I’m going to have to insist on seeing your pussy, spread wide open for my enjoyment.”

“Why, Mr Jenkins, you’re a beast.”

“That I am, Mrs Jenkins.”

She leapt to her feet. “Okay. You have a deal. Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”

He ran to the hall to grab the manila envelope from his coat pocket. By the time he got back to the kitchen she had taken off her pyjama bottoms and was lying face down over the table. Jenks pulled out a chair and positioned himself so he could admire her delicious, naked, chubby rump and the space between her legs. Her delicate pussy lips protruded from her slit like a lazy, lolling tongue, but when she peeled them apart for his pleasure, they opened like butterfly wings to reveal a soft interior the colour of candyfloss. “How’s that?”

“That’s pretty damned good.” He leaned in for a closer inspection. Seeing things he wasn’t supposed to see turned Jenks on like nothing else. He was a visual person and could happily do nothing but look for hours on end without ever feeling the need to touch. His view right now was bordering on gynaecological: the glossy inner flesh of his wife’s most intimate place, the nub of her clit popping its nose out from its pink nest, the tiny eye of her piss hole, the twisted structural form of her vaginal walls and the puckered mouth of her anus. And the intoxicating aroma of cunt ‒ that spicy feminine musk reaching up through his nostrils into his brain like an invisible hand, gripping him and commanding him, luring him in. Pussy was the ultimate drug. Nothing in this world could send him higher or make him feel more alive.

“Hey! Earth to Jenks. Show me that picture, you fucker. We had a deal, remember?”

Without taking his eyes off her sparkling hole, he pushed the envelope into her grasping hand. There was a rustling of paper, a brief silence, an intake of breath, and then Kate exclaimed, “fucking hell!”



Buy Peeper as e-book or paperback at
Amazon US
Amazon UK

SJ Smith is the writer of the novels Leisure and Peeper, as well as several short stories. He is happily married and lives in a small town in North Wales, and when he isn’t busy pedalling smut, he enjoys watching rugby or disappearing on a narrowboat to escape the rat race for a while.

Sunday, 5 July 2015

John Donne and dusted

"Hello Laydeeez ... Let's get poetic!"
The other day I happened to hear an entertaining and stunningly dirty poem read out on BBC Radio Four's Poetry Please. It's by John Donne ( 1572-1631) who is counted as a Metaphysical Poet (which seems to mean he was fond of tortuous and improbable metaphors involving popular science). John "No man is an island" Donne wrote about sex A LOT. Mostly whining that he deserves to get more of it:

"How happy were our sires in ancient time,
Who held plurality of loves no crime."

"Mark but this flea, and mark in this,   
How little that which thou deniest me is;   
It sucked me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be;   
Thou know’st that this cannot be said
A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead,
    Yet this enjoys before it woo,
    And pampered swells with one blood made of two,
    And this, alas, is more than we would do."

The Elegy in question (and I'm not even sure whether it was number 18 or 19, since that seems to vary depending on who you ask), is about ... vulvas. After extensive consideration I can only summarise the message of the poem as "Pussy is JUST AWESOME. In fact it's so good, that when you go down on a woman you should start at her feet instead of wasting time being distracted by her boobs and stuff."

This makes me think his foreplay was a bit shit.  Also the poem ends with a jarring couplet involving a comparison to an enema.

I may not be cut out for poetry, but for those of you on a more elevated plane, here is Elegy XVIII (or XIX). BTW, it might help a bit know that it was held at the time that bear-cubs were born as shapeless blobs and licked into shape by their mothers.

Whoever loves, if he do not propose
The right true end of love, he's one that goes
To sea for nothing but to make him sick.
Love is a bear-whelp born : if we o'er-lick
Our love, and force it new strange shapes to take,
We err, and of a lump a monster make.
Were not a calf a monster, that were grown
Faced like a man, though better than his own ?
Perfection is in unity ; prefer
One woman first, and then one thing in her.
I, when I value gold, may think upon
The ductileness, the application,
The wholesomeness, the ingenuity,
From rust, from soil, from fire ever free ;
But if I love it, 'tis because 'tis made
By our new nature, use, the soul of trade.
All this in women we might think upon,
—If women had them—and yet love but one.
Can men more injure women than to say
They love them for that, by which they're not they ?
Makes virtue woman ? must I cool my blood
Till I both be, and find one wise and good ?
May barren angels love so.   But if we
Make love to woman, virtue is not she,
As beauty is not, nor wealth.   He that strays thus
From her to hers is more adulterous
Than if he took her maid.   Search every sphere
And firmament, our Cupid is not there.
He's an infernal God, and underground
With Pluto dwells, where gold and fire abound.
Men to such gods their sacrificing coals
Did not on altars lay, but pits and holes.
Although we see celestial bodies move
Above the earth, the earth we till and love.
So we her airs contemplate, words and heart,
And virtues, but we love the centric part.
    Nor is the soul more worthy, or more fit
For love, than this, as infinite as it.
But in attaining this desired place
How much they err, that set out at the face ?
The hair a forest is of ambushes,
Of springes, snares, fetters, and manacles ;
The brow becalms us when 'tis smooth and plain,
And when 'tis wrinkled, shipwrecks us again ;
Smooth, 'tis a paradise, where we would have
Immortal stay, but wrinkled 'tis a grave.
The nose, like to the first meridian, runs
Not 'twixt an east and west, but 'twixt two suns ;
It leaves a cheek, a rosy hemisphere,
On either side, and then directs us where
Upon the islands fortunate we fall,
Not faint Canaries, but ambrosial,
Her swelling lips, to which when we are come,
We anchor there, and think ourselves at home,
For they seem all ; there Sirens' songs and there
Wise Delphic oracles do fill the ear.
There, in a creek where chosen pearls do swell,
The remora, her cleaving tongue, doth dwell.
These and the glorious promontory, her chin,
O'erpast, and the straight Hellespont between
The Sestos and Abydos of her breasts,
Not of two lovers, but two loves, the nests,
Succeeds a boundless sea, but yet thine eye
Some island moles may scattered there descry ;
And sailing towards her India, in that way
Shall at her fair Atlantic navel stay.
Though there the current be the pilot made,
Yet, ere thou be where thou shouldst be embay'd,
Thou shalt upon another forest set,
Where many shipwreck, and no further get.
When thou art there, consider what this chase
Misspent by thy beginning at the face.
    Rather set out below ; practise thy art ;
Some symmetry the foot hath with that part
Which thou dost seek, and is thy map for that,
Lovely enough to stop, but not stay at.
Least subject to disguise and change it is ; 
Men say the devil never can change his ;
It is the emblem that hath figured
Firmness ; 'tis the first part that comes to bed.
Civility we see refined ; the kiss,
Which at the face began, transplanted is,
Since to the hand, since to the imperial knee,
Now at the papal foot delights to be.
If kings think that the nearer way, and do
Rise from the foot, lovers may do so too ;
For, as free spheres move faster far than can
Birds, whom the air resists, so may that man
Which goes this empty and ethereal way,
Than if at beauty's elements he stay.
Rich Nature in women wisely made
Two purses, and their mouths aversely laid.
They then which to the lower tribute owe,
That way which that exchequer looks must go ;
He which doth not, his error is as great,
As who by clyster gives the stomach meat.

Friday, 3 July 2015

Please let this be true


According to the Erotic Trade Only organisation, Motorhead - "the loudest band on earth" - are teaming up with Lovehoney  to release a range of sex toys!!!

Sign me up for one!
Just so long as it's not The Loudest Vibrator on Earth...







Wednesday, 1 July 2015

Pedras: spits* and taints* of Lisbon


There are distressingly few rude statues in Lisbon. Most of their statues seem to be of bold men who boldly explored strange new worlds and and boldy advanced the slaughter and enslavement of their native populations.

Look, I'm trying my best here...

But luckily there are many gargoyles...

Some of which even have bare boobies! Yay!

  So here are some of my fave gargoyles, monsters and grotesques:

It may be a bit worn, but this is supposed to be the oldest depiction of a rhinoceros in Western art 

Aw look - she is reading in bed with her dogs. It's the 13th century Ashbless!
I don't normally feed them chicken legs in bed, though.

Iron Age warrior gods
Bald, bearded and tattooed ... I swear I've seen them around
The well-known medieval legend of the sphinx, the mermaid and the giant penguins ... Um. Maybe.

The stunning cloisters of the Monastery hold many monsters...



These look like male genitals that have grown hooves and run away
I know about the Green Man - but a Green Cat?

But this is my favourite of them all - it's the Jet-Powered Angel!

He soars through the firmament scaring cherubs! He even has flamey heat-ripples!



* I'm currently reading Stoneheart


Monday, 29 June 2015

Blue Monday - Vina Green guests

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!

This week's excerpt is from A Divine Solution, by Vina Green. It is another of the stories in the wet-themed anthology Drenched,  which I'll be showcasing over the next month.


That first night, just after she had tentatively stepped into the bathtub under his instruction, she thought of the baptism, and it occurred to her that Tom was aroused by water.

The tub was so deep – much deeper than an ordinary bath – she’d had to carefully tuck her full skirt beneath her and perch on the edge and then lower herself in. He had bent down and placed one hand on the edge and jumped, so close he was nearly on top of her. His impatience was palpable, and almost anger. Though there was no malice in it, nor any real temper or frustration. No, the emotion wasn’t quite anger. It was longing. Sarah recognised that feeling as easily as she knew her own shadow, for it had followed her for as long as she could remember. 

This time, instead of pulling her into the water he put his hand on the back of her head and pushed her forward. She plunged in, face first, spluttering until he pulled her out again and let her catch her breath. Then he pushed her towards the opposite lip so that she could steady herself on the edge of the pool as he lifted her skirts up and prepared to enter her from behind. Her petticoats spread out on the surface like a parachute, and he bundled a bunch up on either side and pushed the fabric into her hands, indicating that she should keep it lifted for him.

Although the bath was deep it had only filled enough to reach the back of her thighs when she was standing. He curved his palms through the water, creating a pair of waves that rippled across the surface and then up and over her buttocks in a wet slap. He cupped his hands and threw scoops over her back. Rivulets poured over her shoulders, following the curve of her breasts that hung in front of her as she bent over like the udders of a cow, and formed droplets on the pointed nubs of her nipples. She felt a current of air, cool after the sting of the hot water, and then the wet smack of his hand as he brought his palm down first on one ass cheek, and then the other. She hissed from the shock of it, and gripped the lip of the tub tighter to avoid losing her balance. He ran the blade of his hand between the valley of her ass, the hard points of his fingers pressing against her asshole.

They developed a rhythm between them. As the pressure of his fingertips against her hole became more insistent, she pushed back against him, and he thrust further forward, until the push and pull of their desire was like the pulsing tide of the sea. A silent conversation of want, each of them intimating that with this new and forbidden exploration, they were fulfilling the need of the other and not their own desire. His fingers were inside her now, and as she relaxed and allowed him to enter he pushed deeper and began to thrust.

She moaned, a sound that was something like a croak. Despite the humidity in the air, her throat felt as dusty dry as the fields around them would soon become, as dry as a sand dune in the midday sun. She licked her lips, trying to moisten them but it was no use, as if all of the moisture in her body had been drawn down to her vagina. She was seeping, sodden. Wetness dripped from the folds of her cunt into the water below her.

Sarah steadied herself with one hand and reached the other between her legs. She grazed her clit and the unexpected touch, after so much longing, swept through her in one sharp jolt as though she had been irradiated. But it was not her clit that she was seeking. She fumbled at the air, reached the strong bulk of Tom’s thigh and travelled higher until she brushed against the softness of his balls, and then the hard pole of his cock. The effort nearly unbalanced her but she clung to the slippery edge of the tub as she wrapped her fingers around the base of his shaft and tried to angle the path of his erection towards her cunt. She wanted him inside her, but he resisted her touch, and batted her hand away. He caught her as she nearly slipped sideways and lowered her hand back onto the bath’s edge.

His torso curved over her back and his penis jutted, a rigid point that jabbed against her leg until he stood upright again and directed it between her buttocks. Sarah raised her rump a little, using her body to nudge him lower, towards the entrance of her pussy but Tom was insistent. He dragged his cock up and down, following the same path that he had caressed with the flat of his hand earlier. When his cock head found the dip of her anus he let it rest there for a few moments and then began to gently push, to ease her open. Her hands turned white as she gripped the tub tighter in anticipation of what would come next.

Thoughts flickered in her mind, darting in and out of her consciousness like seabirds skimming the surface of the ocean but never settling. Her mind warred with her body. One thinking, questioning; would it hurt? Would God punish her for sodomy? Did she want this?

Her flesh paid no attention to her thoughts and simply processed these new sensations; the way the silky velvet tip of his cock head felt pressing against her asshole, the sound of his breathing, increasingly labored, the warmth of his saliva as he pulled away for a moment, spat on her and used his fingers to work the lubricant into her hole. He repeated this process again and again until she was wet and relaxed enough for him to slide inside. Just an inch, at first. He held still, and she held her breath. She exhaled and relaxed a little more and he slid a little further inside her. Eventually, the full length of his shaft was buried inside her ass, and she was rocking back and forward against him, pushing her rear up against his groin, encouraging him to thrust deeper and deeper. He was holding onto her hips now, one hand on either side of her buttocks. His thrusts becoming faster, more urgent.

Sarah did not want him to go limp again and leave her empty and aching for more, as he had in the car earlier. She scooted her left arm across in front of her to centre her body and with her right hand she delved between her folds. A soft hiss escaped her lips, the sound of an out breath through her teeth at the sheer relief she took in pleasuring herself. Tom hadn’t even noticed. He was kneading her buttocks in his hands, pulling away and half slapping her in his effort to hold her hips in place as his pumping became more frenzied.

Sarah found her rhythm, quick circular strokes over her nub, occasionally dipping into her well to wet her fingertips before sliding through her furrow again and applying just the right degree of pressure to her clitoris, the peculiar physics of self love.

But she was too late, or too slow, or rather, Tom was too quick. He lasted far longer than he had the first time, perhaps because it was his second release in a few hours, or maybe because the circumstances were less hurried. When he came, he collapsed against her and she fell forward. Instinctively, she drew her right hand away from its position between her thighs and threw it out in front of her to catch her balance.

The ache of her frustration was a sharp knife twist, rapid and cutting. His cock softened and flopped out of her as he pulled away.

He stepped out of the tub and the water rippled and splashed around her.

She didn’t turn to look at him.

“Dry yourself,” he said, “and come to bed.” She heard the soft whump of a towel hitting the wooden floorboards nearby.


Drenched at Amazon US : Amazon UK

Vina Green's blog

"I’m a writer. I live in East London, though not in one of the cool bits. I don’t ride a bicycle, and I don’t have any cats (yet), but I do drink a great deal of coffee, and I don’t sleep as much as I’d like.
When I’m not writing, I work in a corporate job in the City.


When I’m not working or writing, then I’m likely swimming, or basking in a ray of sunlight somewhere. I am one of those people who can very happily spend an entire day doing absolutely nothing.

I never intended to write erotica.  In fact, the first piece of intentionally erotic writing I ever produced doesn’t have any sex in it at all.

But, on reflection, I think I’ve been writing erotica to some extent, all along. I like to write the feel of things – the squeeze of a lemon, the taste of a mouthful of sea water, the cool press of dirt on your hands. And I think this type of writing is by its nature, erotic, because it evokes feeling, and sensation. My aim is to create feeling, to emote something – not necessarily to turn my readers on, though I have been told that is sometimes a side effect – but to bring a scene to life in the readers mind. But I can tell you that I take pleasure in small things, and that’s what I like to write about. I get a kick out of hanging up wet laundry. I’m interested in people, in relationships, in the beauty of the ordinary. "

Friday, 26 June 2015

Congratulations USA!



The Supreme Court of the USA has ruled 5-4 in favour of gay marriage!

In a year stuffed with vile and depressing news from all over the world, this is like a ray of light. Well done SCOTUS!


Wednesday, 24 June 2015

Pass the port

Guess where I spent the weekend?
Clue: they sell glasses of Port in the street
Yes, it was Lisbon - capital of Portugal, home of strangely Stalinist monuments to imperialist explorers....


.... terrifyingly whizzy trams....

The one time we rode on one, it was so overcrowded the suspension broke and we were all thrown off

.... the best custard pies IN THE WORLD ...


... steampunk architecture ...

The Elevador de Santa Justa


And this is them tightening the bolts by hand, I kid you not.

We went on a fabulous Segway tour - dodging the potholes, waiters and aforementioned trams:


And we saw some amazing churches ...

 ... castles

 ... and statues:


But mostly we ate egg-based pastries:

Aprox one day's supply of custard pies for Ashbless

90% egg-yolk, at a guess

Did I find a corpse? YOU BET I DID:

What's a library without mummies?
Did I find someone enjoying Lisbon more than me? I fear so!

Tour leader: it's a shit job, but someone has to do it...

But let's face it, you cannot knock a nation who are that good at custard pies.

Monday, 22 June 2015

Blue Monday

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your entertainment!
And since it's Midsummer, here's a midsummer romp from my magical/pagan novella Summer Seduction:


"Shy and self-conscious librarian Liz Haven has lost her job and home, and is desperately grateful when a long-forgotten relative invites her to come live at her eerie old house in the rural West of England. Liz hasn’t been there since childhood, and her memories of the place are strangely blurred. When she does return to Enniswitrin House she finds herself the focus for the attentions of a series of handsome but strange men, yet she also realizes that Great-aunt Moira is far from the harmless old lady she seems. Moira has plans for Liz that she is not telling, and there is magic at work here. Real magic — as dark and thrilling and primal as desire itself. Each of her would-be lovers needs something from Liz that goes deeper than just the hot and increasingly transgressive sex. Liz is being seduced into a role she could not imagine, at the center of a web of ancient legend and mystery that will change everything."



Shane grinned suddenly. “It’s just you and me here.”

It took a moment for Liz to catch up with his meaning. Trying to control her pounding heart and her heaving lungs, she put her hand on his chest, feeling him warm and solid and real. Everything else—the Green Knight and the fire and the cattle and the village hall and the rest of her life—seemed flimsy and translucent in comparison. It was all too much to think about. So much easier to see only what was before her, within the grasp of her hands. She reached up to touch his warm throat, feeling the thrum of his blood.

“Liz,” he whispered.

She’d never known anyone like him. A man so full of life. It couldn’t be constrained; it flowed out of him like light, like fire. It burned.

“Liz,” he whispered again, leaning in so that his forehead rested gently against hers. His lips sought her own, soft and sweet and full of dangerous longing. She could taste the question on them. At the same time she could feel his hands on her hips. She could feel the hardness of the length that pressed against her through his jeans.

Do I want this? she asked herself.

“Yes,” she whispered in answer. Yes—oh hell YES!

Gently he backed her up to the verge of the road, and then he stooped and slid his big hands around her ass and lifted her—light as a feather—to sit her down on a stone wall. It put them almost nose-to-nose, height-wise. He opened her legs and stepped between her knees so that he could kiss her again, this time deeper. Tongues met.

He tasted of cider and fire.

His hands were on her spread knees. His hands were under her skirt. His hands were up, up, all the way, fingertips to her hips, thumbs brushing and then stroking the silky cloth of her panties. The itch of need flared out from her clit until it seemed to set her whole body alight. She bit his lower lip, softly, panting.

Touch me. Touch me like that oh yes oh god a bit farther down oh please please PLEASE!

“Oh chrissakes Liz,” he groaned. “You know I want you, don’t you?

“Uh huh,” she groaned as his hands moved on her, his knuckles pressed and rubbed, his fingers probed.

“Really, really want you. You’re like… I want every bit of you—I want to get all over you…those gorgeous sweet tits of yours—your beautiful big arse—I could just…oh fuck you’re driving me crazy, Liz!”

It wasn’t exactly poetry and it wasn’t romantic, but it was entirely sincere, and Liz loved every hoarse and heartfelt syllable. She wound her arms around his neck and bit at his ear.

“Say yes, Liz, my sweet, my lovely.”

“Yes.”

“Oh hell yes…”

“Where?”

“Here.” He started to tug at her panties. “Oh fuck. I can’t wait any longer.”

They were up a side street, on a wall, in the dark—so maybe they’d go unseen, though she could hear music and shouting still from the village green. At the moment it didn’t seem to matter much. There was a raging wet ache of need in her sex that didn’t want to wait either, and that knew it needed Shane to fill it. The whole reckless crazy night demanded culmination. “Have you brought protection?” she hissed.

“Huh?” Shane paused in his quest, her knickers already halfway down her thighs. “No…”

“Oh no,” she keened. And she forced herself to say it; “Then it’s not happening.” She wanted to scream with frustration. “Oh no, this is so not fair!”

“Wait. Wait.” He kissed her lips fervently. “It’s all right, my lovely, it’s all right.”

“No it’s not—when am I ever—?” When am I ever going to get a chance like this again?

“Shhh!” He gripped the back of her neck with one hand, pulling her mouth against his so that they panted together. His other hand, hidden beneath her bunched-up skirts, cupped her open pussy like an answer to prayer. Fingertips traced the wet slot, danced a circle about the slick nub of her clit, and set wildfire burning to light the midsummer night.

“Oh!” she whimpered, shocked.

“That’s sweet,” he whispered. “That’s good.”

She clasped his face like she was drowning and trying to cling to him, but her sight was glazing over already. The all-too-knowing, relentless tease of his fingers on her sex was more than she could bear. The waves of pleasure slithered over each other, rose, crashed, and rose again building higher.

“Oh god, Shane!”

“Give it up, my lovely, that’s right,” he urged her, low and thick in his throat. “Give it up to me.”

She knew she should say No. She knew she should be ashamed of being played with right here in the street, too turned-on to stop, her knees spread and jerking. She knew she should be ashamed that it wasn’t his bullish, boyish need that was overwhelming them both; he wasn’t the one who couldn’t hold back; he wasn’t the one witless with arousal. It was her. She needed this.

She was the one who was wet.

She was the one swollen and slippery and shuddering with lust.

She was the one moaning into his mouth, making helpless animal noises that cascaded out of her open throat.

And then she was the one coming, shamelessly.

When the last of the tension had ebbed from her quivering frame, Shane kissed her again. “That’s right,” he told her.

“Oh god, Shane!” He’d robbed her of her senses. He’d made her do something she’d never dreamt of doing in public. Her whole body pulsed with the afterwash of her climax, and her dress clung to her damp skin.

His lips brushed the whorl of her ear. “Touch me, Liz,” he breathed, squeezing her juicy sex.

“Huh?”

“Please, touch me.” There was dew on his upper lip. “I’m fucking begging you, my lovely.”

“This?” Liz dropped her hand to his groin, groping the thick length that pressed up against the denim. Shane groaned.

“Take it out. Go on. Touch it.”

Like an earth shock following a major quake, a spasm flickered through her, deep inside, just at the thought. She wanted to see the beastie that had been bruising her all night. She wanted to touch him. She wanted to strip him naked and run her hands over his lanky, wonderful body before it was too late and she lost her chance forever.

“Please,” he whispered, lost in his need.

Underneath his white shirt was a belt cinch and a button and a zipper. Her hands felt clumsy on the fastenings, but he held back his impatience. And when she pulled down the elastic of the cotton briefs beneath, she almost giggled in shock at the way his cock did not just slip out—no, it bounced out like a sprung toy, half-comical and half-appalling in its urgency. Wholly impressive in its dimensions though, she quickly discovered. Liz would admit that she didn’t have that much practical experience in the cock department, but this was rather more than she’d imagined—thick, ridged with a single bulging vein, and hot to the touch. Like his hands and his shoulders, it seemed out of proportion to his youthful frame. When she wrapped her hand around its girth, she found she could hardly get thumb and fingertip to meet.

Shane was a big, big boy.


Buy 'Summer Seduction' at Amazon US
Buy 'Summer Seduction' at Amazon UK
Buy 'Summer Seduction' direct from Ellora's Cave

Friday, 19 June 2015

23 and Me

I've had my genes checked out with 23andMe. I wanted to know something about my genetic ancestry, and  - more importantly from a practical point of view - my future health risks.

Now there really are good reasons not to risk this. For a start, you could find out some very bad news indeed, which might affect not only you but your relatives. I don't recommend it to everyone, but I decided to go for it:

  • I am lucky enough to live in a country where my health care does not depend on talking an insurance company into coughing up cash
  • I have no children
  • My sister and her children aren't genetically related to me
  • My brother already has a life-limiting condition with a genetic component, but he went ahead and had kids anyway, so I figure he's a fatalist

So after a disgusting spit-harvesting test whilst watching "How I Met your Mother"(!) - and a couple of months wait - I got my results back, and it's pretty cool:

  • I am in 3.1% Neanderthal, which I am totally stoked about! (Their customer average is 2.7%, as is the European average). It's like being a half-orc or something :-D
  • My more recent genes are depressingly homogeneous (lol) - I am definitely 99.8% European and probably 68% straight British/Irish. Nothing Ashkenazi, nothing from East Asia, the Middle East, India or America. Even the astonishingly fecund Genghis Khan doesn't seem to have sent his seed this far. No great Viking input even  ... Clearly my ancestors did not get out a whole lot.
  • Much more interestingly, I am 0.6% Sardinian and have a small (0.1%) but fairly definite sub-Saharan Africa component. (Don't worry, I will not be doing a Rachel Dolezal anytime).

Health-wise? Nothing very shocking. They do send you three 'locked' reports which you have to opt into to see. Genetic tendencies to Alzheimer's, Parkinson's and breast cancer. For me, this turned out to be one badish news, one neutral and one good news.

I'm one of those people who would rather know in advance. I'm happy with my decision :-)                          

Wednesday, 17 June 2015

Library porn


Today I paid an all-too-brief visit to Leeds Central Library -  a vast Victorian palace of tiled floors and elaborate carvings in which the modern books look somewhat out of place, like they long to be leather-bound folios.

For all you library fans, my pictures below:





Tiled wall of the old reading room ...
... which is the cafe nowadays
Snogging dogs!


The local history room
"1st floor: C.I.D, Aliens registration, firearms registration, lost and found property, policewomen". Boy was librarianship TOUGH in those days!