Showing posts with label Janine Ashbless. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Janine Ashbless. Show all posts

Wednesday, 9 January 2013

Janine Ashbless: Sexy Stories - Fiction That Turns Me On

Today at Kissing Velvet Towers, I'm delighted that the wonderful Janine Ashbless is taking the reins with her guest post for Sexy Stories: fiction that turns me on, in which she explores Something Dirty.... 


It’s actually really hard for me to read other people’s erotica without my inner writer taking over – analyzing the vocabulary, noting whether the editor has enforced a Safe Sex policy, making notes about details of the action. I am a hard reader to please – you have to do something special to get me out of my analytical headspace.  
Luscious: Stories of Anal Eroticism
When asked to write about a Story That Turned Me On, I went to an anthology I bought years back – Luscious edited by Alison Tyler and recently re-issued by Cleis Press with a lovely new cover. 
It’s a strong anthology full of well-written stories all themed around anal sex, which has been one of my favorite erotic topics for a few years now (I do love anal in real life, but the fact is, you don’t need to have ever tried a sexual practice to enjoy reading about it).

The particular short story I return to is called Something Dirty by Erica Dumas. It’s quite simple in terms of plot – a female bartender in an upmarket bar hooks up with a client she fancies, he takes her for a ride on his motorbike, parks up in the middle of nowhere and they have sex over the seat of his bike – yes, awkward and uncomfortable, but very hot. It has a happy ending in that it definitely suggests that this may lead to an ongoing relationship. It’s well-written, particularly in conveying the narrator’s overwhelming but nervous desire, which I totally empathise with (I never can suspend disbelief for sex-with-a-stranger stories where the woman isn’t scared that this is a colossal and potentially dangerous mistake).

“The yuppies left, I introduced myself and felt a shiver go through me as I felt his firm handshake; imagined that firm grasp spinning me around and shoving me against the bar, pulling down my stretch jeans and entering me in the filthiest way a knight in shining armor could. His name was Trey. I wanted Trey to fuck me in the ass.”
Which he does, eventually. Hurrah!

Anyway, why this story in particular, out of this book? It’s not just the fact that for me it hits an authentic and believable note in conveying female horniness. Or the thoroughly satisfying sex scene. It’s the description of scary goateed biker Trey.

“He wasn’t your classic Hell’s Angel, which in any event would have scared me off and prevented me from making a come-on. He was a computer-programmer, probably, or an advertising executive, maybe even a doctor. On Monday he would put on a pin-striped suit or a white coat or a Holy Grail T-shirt and fit right in with the rest of his yuppie pals at work, making enough money that he just had to spend it on a Harley … If I’d worked in a real biker bar, he would have been one of the clean ones. But here at Amistoso’s, he was dirty. Filthy.”

It’s like the author is leaning out of the book, pointing a finger at me and laughing. I just have to laugh along, blushing. Because she’s hit the nail on the head for me, if not for anyone else: I like a bloke who looks rough and wild but is actually really smart and well-educated under that. I’m sorry … it’s just the way I am. It’s not cool, but I never claimed to be cool.

But isn’t that the way that erotica works best – a story finds a way of getting under your skin and revealing the embarrassing little secrets that turn you on but that you don’t want to admit to? This is a story that does that for me. And I’m very pleased it does.

You can buy Erica Dumas’ collection Something Dirty on Kindle.


Janine Ashbless is a multi-published author of erotica and - occasionally - erotic romance.  So far she’s written nine books, published by Black Lace, Ellora’s Cave, Samhain, Mischief and Sweetmeats. She’s also the co-editor of the upcoming Geek Love anthology.

She's always used elements of fantasy, mythology and folklore in her writing, with forays into horror. Janine loves goatee beards, ancient ruins, minotaurs, trees, mummies, having her cake and eating it, and holidaying in countries with really bad public sewerage. She s a roleplaying geek and can still sometimes be found running round in the woods hitting other geeks with a rubber sword. It is unlikely she will grow up anytime soon. Janine lives in England with her husband and two rescued greyhounds, and is trying hard to overcome her addiction to semicolons.



Wednesday, 1 August 2012

The Book Show



I've just received info about The Book Show, which takes place on 22 September and will be of interest to authors and publishers.


Speakers include authors such as – Suzy Jane-Tanner, Steve Goodwin, Chris Cowlin, and many more
TV Celebrity authors - George Watts, Pete Cohen, and Jenny Ainslie-Turner
Erotica Authors – Lucy Felthouse, Victoria Blisse, Kay Jaybee, Janine Ashbless, Serena Yates, Nephylim
Literary agents from – Ed Victor, Burkeman and Clarke, Whatson Little
Publishers such as – Apex Publishing, Andrews UK, Silver Moon, MX Publishing and many more.
Other Exhibitors / zones – Web site creation, Social Media and Marketing Experts, Erotica Zone.
Ticket price includes access to all panels, talks and zones, as well as Breakfast, Lunch and Afternoon Tea.
Centrally located in Luton, Bedfordshire, one minutes’ walk from the main railway station, two large car parks, and a few minutes from junction 10 of the M1 motorway.
For more info check out the website  www.thebookshow.co.uk

Tuesday, 27 March 2012

Red Grow the Roses by Janine Ashbless


Having had a lifetime's fascination with all things vampire, I'm thrilled to host information on Janine Ashbless' new erotic paranormal novel, Red Grow the Roses.  There's an excerpt further down this post, and having read it, I feel as horny as hell....

“Maybe you’ll be lucky. Maybe he’s not human. He’ll take you in his arms and you’ll feel his strength – a strength that makes it impossible to fight him. But you’ve already lost the will to resist, that moment he looked into your eyes and showed you all his hunger and his promise. You knew then. You knew that this is what you are for – what we are all for – with our warm beating hearts and our aching sexual needs.

We are for them.”

There are six vampires in the city. Ageless, terrifyingly beautiful and always hungry – not just for blood but for the other pleasures the human body offers. Sadistic chanteuse Estelle; feckless Ben; Roisin, the mirror-ghost; Wakefield, haunted by his own damnation; Naylor, the most feral of them all.
And Reynauld is the Good Shepherd, the one who holds them all in check. But his grip on his own humanity is fading, and when Wakefield accidentally kills a woman and Naylor gets the blame, a power-struggle erupts between the city’s immortal undead.
Red Grow the Roses tells of bloodlust and sexual desire; for vampires the two are indistinguishable. These transgressive, startling stories draw the reader down the darkest and most seductive paths of pleasure – to where the monsters are waiting.
Janine Ashbless is a multi-published author of erotica and erotic romance. Her first collection of erotic fairy, fantasy and paranormal stories, Cruel Enchantment, was published in 2000 by Black Lace. Red Grow the Roses is her sixth novel. Her stories have been published by Spice, Black Lace, Nexus, Xcite, Racy Pages, Cleis, Ellora’s Cave and Samhain, among others. She was Jade Magazine’s Erotic Fiction Writer of the Year 2009. Janine loves goatee beards, ancient ruins, minotaurs, trees, mummies, having her cake and eating it, holidaying in countries with really bad public sewerage, and any movie or TV series featuring men in very few clothes beating hell out of each other. She lives in England.

Author site/blog link:




Excerpt from Red Grow the Roses by Janine Ashbless
‘I don’t feed from humans,’ Wakefield hissed, trembling.
            ‘That’s what I heard. I just find it hard to believe.’ Rolling onto her knees, she reached for the discarded rose he’d cut for her. ‘Nasty sharp thorns these things have got,’ she mused, laying the stem across her bare breasts. With a twitch she drew it down, scoring her flesh with half-a-dozen needle-pointed thorns, shuddering as the pain burned through her. Pin-points of blood rose on her pale skin and swelled, a string of rubies decorating the white flesh and the roseate nipples. ‘Ah,’ she groaned.
            Robert Wakefield seemed to grow taller; his hard-on bulged. She could taste the coppery tang of her victory.  
            ‘Tell me; have you ever whipped a girl with your roses, Mr Wakefield?’ Lilla began to crawl backwards from him on hands and knees, arse swaying, breasts wobbling. ‘Maybe one of your servants? The parlour maid perhaps? You ever taken a bunch of roses and whipped their tits?’ She put on a country accent for her next words, her voice suddenly breathlessly innocent but at the same time teasing: ‘Oh Mr Wakefield, you wouldn’t be thinking of doing that to a poor innocent girl? I couldn’t bear that sir – it’ll hurt something cruel. You wouldn’t want to ruin a helpless maid, would you, sir? You wouldn’t want that on your conscience?’
            Inhumanly swift, he lunged and grabbed the front of her bodice and yanked her up to slam her against one of the wrought-iron pillars. Eagerly Lilla extended her hands over her head, thrusting her breasts out so that he might feed. But he didn’t, not right away. He looked down at her with a face hollow with hunger, and then he took hold of her long drawers at the waist and snapped the drawstring with one tug of his wrists. He tore the damp, clinging cotton from her thighs to bare her sex, and then he tied her wrists with the twisted strips and secured her to a ornamental bracket high on the pillar, hauling her up onto her toes. She said nothing, words robbed from her by anticipation, lips parted about her shallow breaths.
            His face mask-like, his eyes burning, he plunged his cold fingers between her thighs and up inside her, breaching the gates of her sex to take the measure of her heat, the slick of juices, the yielding sucking flex of her tight hole. Lilla writhed on his hand, twisting helplessly with each thrust of his wrist, and he watched her breasts jiggle and bounce, their pink points dewed in red. His teeth were so extended now that his upper lip did not hide them.
            ‘Oh please,’ she gasped. ‘Please – bite me!’


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