Coming Attractions

by Janine Ashbless

All this week I've been obsessed with Rammstein. Now, heavy metal by enormous sweaty German badboys wearing eyeliner isn't everyone's cup of tea. Hell, it wasn't mine until it happened. One moment I was an innocent, the next hooked. I've bought 2 DVDs. I've listened to them incessantly as I worked. I've worried about the political implications on my blog.

Sometimes it happens like that. You step out of your comfort zone. You try something new - something you know in advance you have no interest in. And suddenly you discover a diamond.

Lust Bites is always showcasing new stuff, things you may have never thought about before. We've had slash fiction and flash fiction, e-books and evangelicals, vibes and etymology, BDSM and cross-dressing, Alpha males and skinny boys, T-shirts and fuck-me shoes, love and lust. Lots of lust.

And without Alison Tyler's helpful links, how would I ever have stumbled across fisting gloves and ball-stretchers? (Ow!)

This week we are bringing you more delights: on Monday Portia da Costa will be revealing a steamy excerpt from her e-book Wild in the Country, proving that there is more to rural life than baling twine and grumpy farmers.

On Crush Wednesday Anne Tourney will be sighing over Brooding Existentialist Men - and interrupting their soul-searching to throw them roughly to the crumpled sheets and tear off their clothes, I suspect.

And on Friday Deanna Ashford will be kicking off an ongoing series, Work in Progress, in which you get a sneaky preview of the projects us Lusties are currently working upon. Because we don't all sit round downloading tanz-metal from YouTube most of the day, oh no...

In the meantime I leave you with Rammstein as dwarfs having their bottoms spanked by an enormous scary Snow White. Play it loud!

xxx
Janine Ashbless

The above photo is dedicated to Kristina Lloyd. Because she would, you know.

P.S. Winner of the 14 Pretty Things Press titles is Eloise. Please email msalisontyler at yahoo dot com with your mailing info, and we'll get the books right out to you!

Art in Motion: Chatting with Eliza Castle

Alison Tyler

Words are my friends. All I have to do is sit at a keyboard, and my fingers start tapping. Empty pages fill quickly, and (generally speaking) easily. But although I see images in my mind, the only way I can capture these visions is through words on a page.

Unless, I call Eliza.

You see, Eliza is my artist. Oh, sure, she’s her own person. Flesh, blood, bone. I don’t actually own her, or anything. But we’ve known each other since I was twelve, and she and I have a definite connection. I see a picture in my head, talk to Eliza on the phone, and presto… artwork begins to pour out of my fax machine or fill up my email box. Somehow, she knows exactly what I’m seeing.

But I got to thinking. Are pictures for Eliza what words are for me? I hear stories in my head, the words perfectly enunciated (unless I’m drunk, and then they’re slurred). Does Eliza see art in her mind? Or is her inner voice a paintbrush? Is her constant dialogue done in pictures rather than words?

I asked her, and this is what she said….

No, I see in motion. I have to feel the curve and I don’t know how to explain it, but let’s say that we’re talking about the curve of a woman’s back going to the small of her back. I see the motion. And I see the 3-D. And if I feel that, I actually feel the motion of what you’re saying in order to see the picture in your head.

Is that something you learned in art class, or is this just the way the world is for you?

In art class, you learn about the negative space. You learn to see what’s not in a picture. That’s as important as what actually is.

What about colors? Are there colors you are drawn to, or ones that you shy away from?

Red, purple, hot or warm colors are my favorites. I'm not drawn to baby blues. I don't like anti-freeze yellow.

Do you move around when you draw? Do you pace the way I do on those times when the words get stuck between my head and my hands?

I always have to feel the motion of the characters… Sometimes, I do move, like when you were telling me about your ideas for the "Lipstick on Her Collar" cover, I elongated my neck, imagined wearing a stiff white collar… I felt tall and sexy.

When I was doing the artwork for "Naked Erotica," with the curtain, I could feel the soft wave in it.

Are bodies just bodies to you, or do you like to draw men over women or women over men (stop snickering Kristina!)?

I prefer drawing the female form to the male form. The female form has more curves. I think it’s more exciting—not sexually, but exciting because of the dips, pinches, peaks, valleys. The man’s body really doesn’t have that. It does, but it’s not as pronounced. You’ve got your six-pack, but that’s just like a quiet, rippling ocean. Where as a woman’s body has got crashing waves. It goes up. It’s cool. It’s always in motion. Doesn’t matter which direction you look at, she’s got curves in the small of her back, her waist…The very first paintings I ever sold were of nudes. And they were the Botticelli nudes.

How do ideas come to you?

You hear someone’s voice talking about what they want.... As soon as I hear the words, I see the image. I can see the ruffle going down the side of a dress… I keep thinking about the covers that you and I talk about, where suddenly I just saw the image in my head. Like picking up a crystal and turning it over and over and over and over.

Together, Eliza and I have collaborated on all of the 15 covers for the Pretty Things Press books. She has illustrated several of the books, themselves: Juicy Erotica and Sex & Candy. Here is a snippet from the soon-to-be-released S&C.

From “Kneading” by Shanna Germain

At home, I don’t let her touch me. There is only this: my fingers tangled in her thin apron strings, cascade of cotton and flour against the floor, Macy’s dark arms iced with sugars and spice.

My recipe is simple: Macy and me, hands and skin, kneading and heat. “The best recipes just taste complicated.” This is something I plan to teach her.

Macy stands, her apron at her feet, still in her white baker’s clothes. Her arms at her sides.

I pull my own apron over my head, wrap the wide fabric around Macy’s waist, around her hands. Still not touching. The cloth wraps her twice, three times. Macy’s eyes, nutmegs in their spicy stare, watch me. The only thing on her that moves, her breath and those eyes. I lean down to tie the cloth around her. Her stomach smells of honey. I want to lick it clean.

Instead, I grab the cloth wrapping. I pull it toward me and Macy comes too, bringing her sugar scent. She thinks I might kiss her, maybe she expects me to kiss her, but I don’t. I trail my fingers up her arms, the crunch of sugar beneath my skin. At first, she just stands, one foot cocked to the side like a horse, waiting. I keep my fingers there, against the skin of her arms, smoothing and pressing.

This evening, there is nothing but this: soft chocolate breasts inside my strong hands, roll and pinch of skin, my fingers lathered in Macy’s dew and sweat and sweet cream. There is only her reaching, dark fingers, hungry mouth.

Inside my mouth she is the first spoonful of tapioca pudding. She is finding a fudgesicle in the freezer on a hot summer day. She is the sweet cinnamon bloom of apple pie up on the tongue. She is the perfect cake, hot from the oven.

xxx

Eliza is often the first person I talk to in the morning and the last person I talk to at night. Even though we’re separated by several thousand miles, we share coffee and cocktails on a daily basis.

Everyone should have an artist. I highly recommend it.

XXX,
Alison

P.S. Eliza Castle is here today to answer questions. Comment for a chance to win a complete set of the 14 books currently published by Pretty Things Press.

Competition Winner

To announce the winner of the competition on Monday's post it was a toss up between this picture and one of a champagne bottle.
No surprisingly I chose this.

It does have some relevance to the competition for a copy of Templar Prize as this is a picture from the movie "Kingdom of Heaven", which tells the story of how Jerusalem was lost to the Saracens.

To continue after being just a tad distracted for a moment. I have no polyhedral dice, unlike Janine, so I put all the names in a hat -speaking figuratively - and came up with a winner.

A signed copy of TEMPLAR PRIZE will be going to cristyjan.

As I'm feeling extra-generous today I'm also giving a copy to crystal adkins.

Congratulations both of you and I hope you enjoy the book. Please let me know your addresses by e-mailing me at deanna(at)deannaashford(dot)com.

Warning: Use Caution When Swinging from Chandelier

Rough sex. Acrobatic, adventurous, heart-pounding sex. Swinging from the chandeliers and shaking the rafters sex. Is there anything better?

Few things feel sweeter than that morning after, when the muscles are sore, skin aching from love bites and overeager hands, tender parts tingly with the aftermath. The morning after a good romp, even walking through the house feels sexy, as though I can still feel him between my thighs. Looking in the mirror makes me smile – my eyes are bright with sated passion, my lips are swollen from kisses, and my neck is sometimes covered with those little bites, delicious marks of his teeth.

Sometimes my wrists are red from handcuffs or scarves. Every now and then I will find a rug burn on my knee. Occasionally there will be a bruise somewhere else, perhaps on my hip or the inside of my thigh, where he held onto me while he was doing something decidedly naughty. Sometimes he gets marked with scratches of possession across his back.

From time to time, a rough-and-tumble play session becomes an extreme sport. Have you ever made love in the shower and then slipped halfway through a good thrust? Or used lotion all over your lover’s skin, only to be betrayed by slippery hands that almost let you fall to the floor when you reach to hold onto the headboard? What about losing all sense of direction and coming back down to earth – literally – when you fall off the edge of the bed?

There are dozens of stories about the leg cramp that made her hop out of bed while howling at the top of her lungs, or the moment he thrust a little too hard and missed the mark. There’s prolonged sexual play with popsicles or ice cubes, when your nether regions become so numb and tingly that you really can’t feel anything down there anymore, much less enough to have any sort of orgasm until things...well, heat up again.

Sometimes it’s just the opposite, and adventures in bed become a little too hot to handle. I’ve had the unfortunate experience of leaning too close to the candles – the sudden scent of singed hair was enough to dampen the mood. We put out the fire before the curtains caught, but I’m sure other couples through the years haven’t been so lucky. Can you imagine telling the fire chief exactly how your bedroom went up in flames?

Things sometimes go to extremes. We’ve all heard the snickering stories of foreign objects someone just happened to “fall on” and get lodged in some intimate part of their body. Some of those stories actually manage to make the news on a slow day. A little more common is the horror story of the time a guy reached into the bedside drawer and pulled out a bottle he thought was filled with lube. In the darkened bedroom, he didn’t notice the lube was really the Icy Hot until it was far too late...but simply writing that makes me cringe, so let’s not talk about that anymore, okay?

A good friend of mine once fooled around in a car with her husband, trying to recapture the feeling of her youth. Their playground was a secluded park while they got it on in the front seat (hey, the seats were heated! And they reclined!). One of them got too close to the gearshift, and somehow moved that stick from park to neutral. A good definition of true panic: A man with his pants down around his ankles, right on the verge of orgasm, happens to glance out the windshield and see the swiftly approaching shoreline of a massive lake.

Since my friend is alive to tell the story, her husband obviously managed to find the brake before things went over the edge, so to speak. Once the crisis was over, my friend laughed so hard, she cried. Her husband didn’t find it nearly as funny, and didn’t speak to her for a week.

My own “you can’t make this shit up” moment came when I woke up one summer morning to find that in addition to the little aches and pains of a night well spent, I also had these incredibly itchy spots all over my back and shoulders. I climbed into the shower – first thing anybody would do, right? – and it only got worse. So much worse, in fact, that when my lover called later that morning, I tried to play it cool but failed miserably.

“My back itches and I have little red dots on it and I don’t know what it is.”

I was met with the kind of silence that assured me he was trying hard not to laugh out loud.

“Go look under that magnolia tree,” he said.

I went straight of the house, across the back field and to the big tree in the corner, where we had made love the evening before. It was the most beautiful place, secluded and quiet, a soft carpet of green underneath a sweet-smelling tree. The moonlight had streamed through those leaves and turned his skin golden, almost making him glow. At the time, that was all I cared about – I hadn’t bothered to notice everything around us. What we thought was a benign place to take a tumble was filled with small, distinctive green leaves. One look in broad daylight answered all my questions. It was poison ivy.

Lesson learned: when getting frisky in the great outdoors, take a good look around you before you roll in the hay.

A tube of medication from my doctor and I was okay within a week. My lover laughed at me over that for months but he never got a single itchy spot, which serves to prove that there really is no justice in this world.

So far, I haven’t done anything even close to landing me in the Emergency Room, nor have I done anything so incredibly stupid I wouldn’t own up to it. I admit to the guilty pleasure of reading about the occasional bedroom mishap in a newspaper and snickering, all the while thinking that it couldn’t possibly happen to me, even as I know it very well could. Does anybody know of a sex toy shop that sells helmets for extreme bedroom sports?

Playful Cheers,
Gwenny

Competition Winner

The gentleman above is John Abraham, Bollywood star and Indian supermodel. Wouldn't you just love to get your hands on every inch of his beautiful, perfectly sculpted body...

Ahem. Where was I? India ... Divine Torment ... Oh yes - COMPETITION WINNERS!

I've rolled my polyhedral dice and the winner of a copy of Divine Torment is MELISSA HEYWOOD.
T'SADE gets a copy of the Japanese edition. Oh, go on, you can have both.

Congratulations guys - hope you enjoy the read. You need to e-mail me your postal address at:

janineashbless[at]fsmail[dot]net

xxx
Janine Ashbless

Templar Prize

by
Deanna Ashford

I think I am having a few Ridley Scott moments at present. On Friday we had the amazing excerpt from Janine’s wonderful book, Divine Torment, which was described by the publisher as ‘Like Gladiator set in a mythical realm.’ Now I’m posting an excerpt from my new book Templar Prize. The story is set during the time of the Third Crusades, just three years after the events portrayed in the Ridley Scott movie Kingdom of Heaven.

Much like most women of her time the heroine, Edwina, has been forced into an unhappy loveless marriage. Her husband is in the service of King Richard the Lionheart and they accompany him on his on his quest to retake Jerusalem from the Saracens. Edwina’s husband dies unexpectedly and she is reunited with her former lover Stephen the Comte de Chalais. However the path before them is shrouded in danger and betrayal.

Storms at sea, cruel emperors, tyrant kings, renegade Knights Templar and Saracen noblemen all make their desperate situation even more perilous until even Saladin himself has a part to play in their destiny.

Comment on this post and you’ll be entered into a draw to WIN A COPY of TEMPLAR PRIZE. (Don’t forget to identify yourself somehow in your Comment.) The winner will be announced on Thursday.

To set the scene for the excerpt: Edwina, dressed as a squire, has accompanied Stephen to the Templar fortress of Sarak which is commanded by Master Bernard le Motte a fanatical man who believes any kinds of sexual contact is a perversity. Stephen and Edwina share a room and it comes to Bernard’s attention that the new arrival has an unnatural relationship with his squire. Determined to witness this for himself Bernard uses the secret tunnels in the citadel to spy on Stephen and Edwina.

‘Master,’ Gerard whispered anxiously.

‘Silence,’ Bernard hissed, his excitement rising to fever pitch. He felt his penis grow harder but studiously he tried to ignore it, concentrating on his need to bear witness to this appalling incident.

The squire was lying on his belly, his body covered by his long shirt, with only his small pert buttocks bare. Bernard watched in fascination as Stephen thrust his cock deep inside the young lad and heard him give a loud groan of pleasure. To be honest Bernard was unable to see this as clearly as he would have wished, because in the process of impaling the squire, the comte had moved and all he could see was Stephen’s muscular buttocks thrusting lewdly back and forth. Even so he was captivated by the sight of the erotic movements, finding the vision so compelling that his own shaft grew even harder until it felt as if it might explode. There was almost an animalistic air about these two people enjoying such forbidden pleasures and Bernard was so very tempted to slide his hand under his surplice and press it against his aching cock.

Soon his breathing became as laboured as that of Stephen’s, who was still energetically pumping into the willing squire. Bernard’s heart missed a beat and his fingers curled, his ragged nails digging into the stone wall as Stephen withdrew and flipped the squire over. The boy’s long shirt concealed his sex for a moment and then the comte ripped it off, revealing the surprising sight of two round firm breasts tipped by erect cherry coloured nipples. Bernard’s gaze slid down to the squire’s groin hardly able to believe it was a woman. What had possessed this knight to bring a woman, disguised as a boy, to this sacred place he thought indignantly.

Yet he could not fail to be moved by her nakedness. In truth he might have envisaged it in his youth but he had never seen a woman unclothed before and it was a magnificently inspiring sight. He began to understand how such a sinful creature might have tempted Adam in the Garden of Eden. Her long golden hair confined in a fat plait flopped across one pert breast. As she lay there smiling seductively at the comte she parted her thighs to reveal all of herself to the onlookers. Bernard swallowed and gave a soft sigh as he watched the line of wicked pink flesh opening up between her pale thighs. He so wanted to be there naked on the bed with them and he watched enthralled as Stephen eased his rigid cock back inside the woman again.

As the thrusting started, she wrapped her legs around Stephen’s lean hips and Bernard could not resist the temptation a moment longer. His hand surreptitiously reached beneath his surplice and he grabbed hold of his penis, rubbing it through the rough fabric of his breeches, while he watched the two of them rutting together.

Their pleasure appeared to rise as swiftly as his. He saw Stephen’s muscles go rigid and he emitted a loud grunt as he climaxed. That noise was followed by a sharp scream from the woman as she too came. Confusion erupted inside Bernard’s body as he felt a quite indescribable pleasure consume him. Then his own muscles tensed and his cock pulsed with a wild pumping pressure. The strange sensation was followed by a wonderful warmth and a powerful sense of release.

Unable to comprehend what had happened to him, he leant back against the far wall, shivering slightly as he became aware of a strange damp stickiness in his breeches and he realised in disgust that he had allowed himself to climax, something he had never allowed himself to do before, because self-gratification was a mortal sin in his eyes.

Yet none of this was truly his fault he told himself, it had come about because of the Comte de Chalais’s strange shameful behaviour. Bernard vowed that he would be punished for this as well as his other crimes. Turning he leant towards Gilbert. ‘Go find the strongest sleeping potion we have, put it in a jug of our finest wine and send it to the comte.’

Deanna Ashford
www.deannaashford.com

Coming Attractions

Okay, I am late. I have a good excuse. I have been up all night! Just like one of the kids! Last night I went up to exciting London where I was nominated for Writer of the Year at The Erotic Awards, for my ground breakingly exciting, disability porn, smut fest, Equal Opportunities.

And I won!

I won a huge golden cock on a plinth! I'd like to thank everyone associated with The Erotic Awards and everyone who has supported Equal Opportunities to make such a strange little book about a strange little subject a huger success than I would ever have thought.

*

I'm out of my wheelchair and crawling for her. A weird fucked-up creature dragging itself across the carpet. And, god, I really shouldn't like this so much. It's every kind of objectification. But sparks of arousal are flying all over my body. I can scarcely tell which parts of me are which. I want to scream at her for her to take me. Use me. Make me into a mere thing. I want her to stride across the floor to me and fuck me. Force herself inside me. Own me.

But I don't. I don't because even in my own zoned-out state I can tell she's lost in her own rapture. She wouldn't even hear me. 'Tell me why you're doing that,' she says, as she stares at me crawling, squirming on the floor, her voice so ragged it's barely recognisable.

'For you.'

'No, no, tell me why you have to move like that.'

I change my path and start to drag myself towards her, meeting her eyes from way down on the floor. 'Because I can't get up.'

*

Next week we have Deanna Ashford talking about her latest epic Templar Prize. Then on Wednesday Gwen Masters is here with her white coat on to talk sexy injuries. Friday means randy little Alison Tyler talking with erotic artist Eliza Castle. And possibly, at some point, photos of me with my giant golden cock.

Did I mention that it has wings?

Mathilde Madden
Award winning - no, really.