Alpha females

by Olivia Knight

My favourite heroines – to write, to read, to watch – are alpha. In A bluffer's guide to… Paranormals, I said this of the heroines, “Alpha-females to a woman: there’s no time for simpering flowers when you’re locked in a battle against forces what man was not meant to wot of. These chicks are tough: they’ll gut ex-lovers, eat snakes to survive, lead armies, face down the devil, catch werewolves, exorcise demons, endure bitter physical hardship, and wield insane amounts of power. They’re queens, time-travellers, priestesses, sorceresses, reincarnated witches, and goddesses.” But before humbly kowtowing to their acknowledged superiority, let’s be clear what alpha females are – and what they are not.

These are NOT the heroines who prove “women are strong too” – been there, done that, inherited my grandmother’s t-shirt on the subject. These are not heroines who have to be a tougher cookie than the men to survive in a gritty dog-eat-dog man’s world (the New York Bronx accent is creeping up on me already) but get them home and they’re not only tough but warm-hearted, loving and sincere; voted most likely to be a waitress and single mum in a touching comedic drama. Above all, it is not heroines who achieve the ends of success with womanly wiles / tact / delicate social manipulation / et cetera / ad infinitum – the oh-wow-the-company-has-more-profits-with-this-compassionate-firm-but-fair-woman-at-the-helm notion. Probably nothing wrong with that, but it’s not alpha. The alpha female isn’t a feminist recuperation of strength or even palatable to most feminists. I am not singing Sisters are doing it for themselves or Independent Woman (although, if you want to know what Independent Woman would sound like if sung by kittens from the north of England, click here).

Alpha rules. Automatically, intrinsically, very often literally, albeit sometimes at the end of a sword.

‘Feels good, doesn’t it?’ he murmured. His cock was stirring against her. The room was silent, the onlookers tense and bewildered. She strove to think of something which would give her strength, some concrete talisman against the spell which held her. Thomas was a blur – the castle, a shell – the country, just land – then her mind landed on the mandala. The two teardrops interlocked; in the gold, a drop of silver, and in the blue, a drop of green. His hands roamed her back and rump, guiding her to nest his erection between her thighs. Lust swelled. She fixed the mandala in her vision as her hand ran up his chest, down his arm, and onto her sword-hilt. As she stepped back and swirled around, she drew the sword in one fluid movement and completed the circle with its blade raised and level, running smoothly across his neck. He staggered back, clutching the wound, his eyes agape. He tried to speak, but blood hissed and bubbled at his throat. The choker strangled her like a noose. She could neither breathe nor utter a word, but she stepped back neatly as Thomas had taught her and ran the duke through. His wild eyes stared down at the new wound. When she pulled the sword out, he fell, and she stamped hard on his heart. Blood sprayed through both cuts; his eyes rolled up. As his head fell back, the choker fell open and tumbled off, its curse broken. Her sword tip on the ground, her dress splashed with Kardan’s blood, she looked up at her counsellors.
‘Remember this,’ she said. ‘This is how I deal with traitors.’

– The Three Riddles in Enchanted

Alpha heroines are Not Nice – they’re not the ones you want to be your best friends, they’re the ones you want to be. The ones who leave you ten foot tall, walking as if you’re doing the ground a favour, swanning through grateful air, eyes burning as you plan your world-domination. These women are powerful:

Abruptly, she was above the surface again, imbuing her body with the furnace-heat of that furious, determined spark. As her arms rose, the gargantuan power flowed upwards into them, a borrowed force that could tear down heaven and hell by simply outlasting them, that had existed long before them and would continue after.
She saw the Devil again, with her own eyes and with the Mother’s, no longer as the most powerful and ancient of evils to confront humanity but as an upstart. … Her mouth opened in a roar, and the words that rolled like lava from her tongue, the Mother’s words and her own, were ‘Leave my child alone!’
The sound rolled outwards from her, in concentric waves across the meadows, out onto the river, up the avenue, rebounding off the tall college walls and crashing back across them. Her body shone with radiance, her human eyes could hardly withstand the brilliance of Adrian. He stood upright, beyond the Devil, no longer needing support as the silver core of him coalesced into a whole once more and his luminous eyes met hers. A net of light spun itself between them, a spider’s web, a canopy, of pure silver. Spears of power passed between them, from eyes to eyes, forehead to forehead, breast to breast, groin to groin, each a lance through the crumbling edifice of evil between them. As the old man’s shape drifted into dust, the flaming giants rose up from them at last, again, reached out, and held each other close.

– The Ten Visions

These heroines fight back – with scorcery and swords, with arson and armies. If there’s a village under attack, they don’t get rescued, they gallop in with sword whirring. If there’s a country, they rule it. If there’s a battle, they lead it. If there’s an enemy, they fight it. With the power, you see, comes the responsibility:

‘Can you even begin to understand what you’ve done?’ His voice resonated, shaking the tree she hung onto. ‘We are the guardians of fate. But you thought you knew better – you! Who can’t see the consequences of even one of your actions!’ His scorn slashed through her. ‘Thanks to you, the whole fabric of fate is creaking with strain. The further it goes off course, the harder to realign it. It was so simple – one tiny act – and for that, a man’s heart broke, another man died. And still, you wouldn’t listen to us! Now whole towns are laid to waste, whole countries teeter.’

– The Three Riddles in Enchanted

‘Let them die,’ she screamed. He was close enough to see her face glistening with tears, contorted. ‘They deserve it!’
‘Nina!’ he bellowed.
She spun around to face him, blazing. Her eyes were wild and thick with tears. ‘My children are killing my children!’

– The Dragon Lord in Magic and Desire

Alpha females don’t get an easy time, as heroines: they must be strong as iron, endure without complaint, and never even whimper. I thought I put Nina through her paces, in The Dragon Lord – she suffers such unbearable pain that she habitually throws herself onto a stone floor to knock herself out, she hikes naked through rough terrain for days, hallucinating, she scrapes off her own skin with a rock – and then I wrote The Three Riddles, and learnt how to really punish a heroine. Having lost one lover and gutted the other, Pearl gallops off on her trials: alone on horseback in midwinter, eating snakes and field mice to survive, finding the burnt corpses of her subjects piled in heaps, tormented by a vulgar little being, fording freezing rivers, dragged across frozen ground by her horse, tapping its veins for nourishment, swimming an icy lake, and when she’s bleeding, malnourished, hypothermic, emotionally drained, and weak as a kitten, she gets attacked by a wolf. And that's why she's Queen: because giving up is not an option.

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Featured alpha heroines from left to right: • The Bride in Kill Bill, played by Uma Thurman • Pearl in The Three Riddles in Enchanted • Queen Elizabeth I, here played by Cate Blanchett • Nina in The Dragon Lord in Magic and Desire • Angelina Jolie, here as Mrs Smith in Mr and Mrs Smith • Sarah in The Ten Visions • Officer Aeryn Sun in Farscape, played by Claudia Black

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So who are your favourite alpha females? What do you most love about them? And how do they make you feel?

Magic and Desire: US release

By the time this post goes up the 3 novella collection Magic and Desire will officially be available to buy in the US. Hooray! All three authors – Portia da Costa, Olivia Knight and Janine Ashbless – are longtime contributors to Lust Bites. To celebrate this publication we’ve got little teaser extracts for you from all three stories. Different styles, different settings (one contemporary, one fantasy, one historical), different plays of light and dark … but all three themed around sex and the supernatural.

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First, Ill Met By Moonlight by Portia da Costa: a romantic tale of a shape-shifting fairy who longs to participate in human passion. In this extract Lois is musing on the beach after a sticky night of fairy-induced erotic dreams…

Without thinking, she clasped her hand to her crotch, squeezing, trying to ease the ache. Pressing and massaging, she stared up at the strange dark seagull, watching it execute a graceful diving spiral, almost in response to her action. Then she looked down again, observing her own pale hand against the stonewashed cloth of her jeans and wishing it were another hand. One that was bigger and stronger and totally male.

Imagining him behind her, she moaned, longing for it to be his great body on which she leant while she took her pleasure, longing for his arms to enfold her and gentle her through the spasms.

‘Oh! Oh, God!’ Crying out, she came in a sudden rush, out of the blue, dimly hearing the gull shriek too, as if applauding her or even sharing her crisis.

Still clutching herself, she wrapped her other arm around her torso, hugging and rocking.

She didn’t hear the heavy trudging footsteps until it was too late and, when they did penetrate her haze, she looked straight up into the frowning face of her next-door neighbour.

‘Are you all right?’

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Now an excerpt from The Dragon Lord by Olivia Knight: a fantasy epic of a princess, a desperate quest and some seriously dangerous dragons. In this extract the imprisoned Princess Nina turns the tables on her two guards…

Her hands were in their hair. Between them her hips rose and fell. Hugo wriggled closer to her, her thighs hot against her cock, her body radiating warmth like the summer sun. Vario groaned and Hugo opened his eyes to see his friend suckling hungrily. Their eyes met.

Whatever tide of desire was carrying them, they were both aware of what they were doing, and knew it. They watched each other’s mouth working softly at her nipples, which glistened and disappeared. Her hands pressed lightly on the backs of their heads and they leant forwards willingly. Their lips, hot from her skin, joined. Their cocks bounded in unison against her as their mouths opened and their kiss deepened. Each slid a thigh between hers, shifting to rub harder against her as their tongues delved. When they pulled back their breath was short, their eyes dark with confusion. Her soft smile said it was all fine and they bent to kissing her again, moving more freely, their hands clasping and unclasping, brushing over each other as they rolled and wound around her.

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Lastly an excerpt from The House of Dust by Janine Ashbless: a dark tale of humiliation, vengeance and a descent into the Land of the Dead. In this extract Ishara and Nergal, who hate each other, have to have ritual sex in front of the whole city…

Nergal says nothing. A fire burns in his black eyes and I think that fire would consume me if it could. I reach out and draw the cloak from his shoulders to reveal the body beneath. He is naked of course, and my heart jumps in my breast to see that even so he is unimpeachably regal in form and proportion. His cock, heavy though not yet full erect, jerks a little. Turning, I rub myself against him, my buttocks to his crotch. I find it easier if I don’t have to meet his eyes and there is genuine pleasure in the undulation of my spine and the writhing of my hips. I like it that the people of Uruk can see me like this.

Lazily, Nergal reaches round and cups one breast. My nipple responds to his touch instantly. His pinch would be cruel in other circumstances but right now it only inflames me and I press my rounded rump into him with a cry. With his other hand Nergal pulls off my gown; I hear a sigh go up from the people. His fingers find the cleft between my legs and enter just far enough to sample my wetness. Then suddenly he spins me back round to face him. There’s a half-smile on his lips. Hands on my shoulders, he pushes me to my knees.

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And now for the book giveaway! But we’re not offering a copy of Magic and Desire, because we really want you to buy that! So we’re giving away a copy of the paranormal short story anthology Love on the Dark Side, which contains a contribution from each of us (as well as a host of other Lusties past and present): The Black Knight by Olivia, Sun Seeking by Janine, and Watching the Detective by Portia. All you have to do is drop a comment (with identifying name of some sort) on this post and we’ll pick someone at random to win a copy: results in Coming Attractions this Sunday. You don't have to say anything clever -"Gosh, I would like free book" will do!

xxx
Janine Ashbless

Buy Magic and Desire at: Amazon US : Amazon UK

Building The Dragon Lord's world

by Olivia Knight

The Dragon Lord is the final novella in Magic and Desire:

From the misty marshlands of Navarone to the halls of mythical Kâo, Drake's passion for the newly-wed Princess Nina threatens to end his quest, his honour, and his life. Meanwhile, Nina must wrestle with her dangerous secret, which marriage should have ended and which Drake has reignited.

Misty marshlands of Navarone... mythical Kâo... Fantasy creates worlds. Rich, enthralling, complex, patently untrue and wholly believable worlds with distinct cultures, customs, countries, and histories. If you want readers to walk around Hogwarts after dark in their heads, or hike across Middle Earth on the way to work, or even believe this place exists and the food chain is more than grass–hare–hero, you need convincing detail, and plenty of it. Fantasy gobbles up word count. But erotica gobbles up word count, too – all those times you thought you’d been gone ten minutes, and reappear at the party, slightly flushed, an hour and a half later? It’s the same in writing. It always takes longer than you expect.

An erotic fantasy story, then, in a third of the length of a novel (roughly an eighteenth of most fantasy sagas), demands damn tight world-building. No reader wants great chunky paragraphs of back history, nor do they want to spend the whole story scrambling frantically to figure out what the hell is going on and what, for god’s sake, is a wurzel? So here follows the art of building a world on a postage-stamp…

Nursery rhymes
These are history in a nutshell. Think of ‘ring-a-ring-a-rosies’ and the Black Plague. ‘Eeny-meeny-miny-mo’ is a counting system from before the Celts landed in Britain. Children keep chanting long after the origins are forgotten, especially if there’s a fun dance involved… At Princess Nina’s engagement dinner, she insists – to the humiliated horror of her parents – that the musican play the Song of Kâo:

Karitta go karew karew
In the land of Kâo, the words were true.
The Lords and ladies flew by night
In the land of Kâo, the moon was bright.

Karitta go karew karack
In the land of Kâo, the moon went black.
The Lords and ladies fell today
And all the people ran away.

As true as ring-a-ring-a-rosies, this is all that’s left of the legends of Kâo – and a slightly chilling verdict on what’s to come.

Ceremonies
Beginning an erotic story with the heroine’s engagement and wedding is bizarre, but very handy. Ceremonies are culture at its most ossified – sorry, traditional – and we quickly know what to expect of the way of life: Nina wears full face-covering veils for twelve days before her marriage, the congregation mumble on auto-pilot “For God has said so,” and the morning after the wedding…

… as was customary, the bloodied sheet was flown like a flag from their bedroom window and the locals hooted and applauded. The guests belatedly joined in. With this proof that the prince had indeed pushed himself into the princess’s virginal flesh, the marriage was complete and they could all go home.

Foreigners
The wedding guests, too, prove useful. Their reactions kill two birds with one stone: a glimpse of other countries beyond this one’s borders, and an outsider’s view on what the locals take for granted. Their gifts tell us still more. (And as we’re being thrifty, make excellent props later.) Most telling, though, is their reaction to the uninvited guest, who claims to be from Kâo, and may as well have said he was from the moon…

The parties were dull. Navarone was hospitable, but its chill crept into the marrow of one’s bones. Everyone complained under their breath about the draughty rooms and heavy food, except Lord Drake. No-one knew where he was staying, and they joked that he flew back to Kâo each night, or turned into a bat and hung upside down in the rafters, or had a magical castle in the clouds. He kept himself apart, always with the same air of waiting. His remote eyes followed the princess’s tall figure as she wound through the crowds like a flame, her face hidden. When people teased him about coming from ‘Kâo’, he looked through them and smiled distantly. After a few days their inventiveness failed, the novelty wore off, and they left him alone. He didn’t seem to notice.

Proverbs and sayings
History and attitude wrapped up in one neat phrase, they’re the smoke to the culture’s fire. Here, Lord Drake has escaped another of the endless parties – a masked ball – to a quiet room where he stares out over the marshes and the green flames that erupt. Another guest has also escaped, her shoes poking out from under the curtains, and laughing he invites her out. They’re discussing honesty versus social niceties when…

He lifted her hand to the spiky letters engraved on his breastplate. She traced the metal grooves.
‘What does that say?’
‘Karayeethra ga Karayu – Honesty and Honour, in your language. It’s the motto of Kâo.’
‘Are you really from Kâo, then?’
He sighed. ‘Yes. Though I realise that everyone here has difficulty believing me.’
‘I believe you,’ she said quickly. ‘At least – I believe that you believe it.’
‘And perhaps that’s the best I can hope for.’
‘I love that song. It’s always been my favourite.’
His eyes turned sadly out to the windows, but his hand held hers tighter. His quest might be a failure, but the party was brighter for containing this girl.
‘And now I’m holding hands with a man from a story,’ she mused.
His fingers released hers abruptly. ‘I’m not from a story,’ he growled. ‘I’m real.’
She stared. ‘You said honesty. I’m only being honest, that’s truly what I believe.’
He smiled thinly. ‘“What the heart believes to be true is never untruthful” – that’s a saying of ours. But there’s always the polite option of silence. You could do me the courtesy of not saying you think I’m made up.’
‘But even silence misleads – not telling a truth can help someone believe a lie...’
He laughed, delighted. ‘You’re passionate about truth. In Kâo, that’s important. And of course, you’re right, it’s a delicate line to tread.’
Whether the silence lied or not, they let it settle over them, except for murmuring ‘Look’ or ‘Over there’ as the pale lights flared and vanished. Like another quiet language, her drooping sleeve brushed his wrist, his upper arm returned from a gesture to lie closer to hers. Both seemed not to notice the furtive touches; both were hypersensitive to every hair-tip’s contact. His fingertips ran across the inside of her wrist, breaking the pretence. Neither breathed as he traced lightly. They kept their eyes averted, hypnotised by his invisible drawing. His hand slipped higher, under her loose sleeve. In feathery increments, his fingertips crept to the crease of her arm and when they found it she moaned.
‘Look at me,’ he murmured.
Her dilated green eyes lifted. His were dark grey, searching. He glanced at her lips, back up, then at the swell of her breasts. He knew she could see where he was looking, and she knew that was deliberate. Under his eyes’ caress, her lips parted, her breasts got goosebumps. Her breath came faster and made her cleavage rise and fall. Her eyes flickered to his lips and shyly away.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Be honest.’
So she studied them, thinking about kissing them, and with the thought clear on her face met his eyes again. He put a hand on her waist and guided her closer. Their lips touched and their bodies brushed. His groin swelled as their tongues twisted wetly.
‘Now am I made up?’ he asked.
She shuddered in his arms. ‘I don’t think so.’
The heat from her skin came like waves and he closed his eyes, the lust rolling. He burned for her and a terrible thought occurred to him: it could be her, that could be why, and if so, he was compromising his honour… She nudged her hips from side to side until his bulge rested in white-hot longing at the apex of her thighs. His mind was drowned out by sensation, and he thrust the thought aside. She was lovely, sexy, and sliding against him; that was enough to explain the roaring lust.
His hand clutched the hem of her bodice, his fingers against the bare slope of her breast beneath. They lapped each other’s tongues and she whimpered as his nail caught her nipple. Their hips rubbed harder, trying to complete what their clothes made impossible, and with one hand each they tugged her skirt upwards.
The door creaked. The girl sprang away, twirling to the window.
‘Look at that flare!’ she exclaimed. Facing away from the door, she rubbed the back of her hand over her mouth, wiping away the smeared blue lipstick. Surprised, Drake surreptitiously copied her example.
‘Princess Nina,’ said a servant. ‘Your parents and the Consort have been looking for you – it’s time for the speeches.’
Only the marshes saw the horror that crossed Drake’s face.

Pictures
These are my personal shortcut, rather than a writing technique: I scour the web for pictures of imaginary worlds that I can make leap to life. I might reference a single detail or describe it in detail, but they live in my head while I write. All the pictures in the post are part of The Dragon Lord's world, and come from either furiae or mattepainting.

And if you want a glimpse of Kâo itself, the prologue is on my website. For a chance to win Magic and Desire, tell me your favourite fantasy world… The whole week's winners will be announced on Sunday.

Genesis of a Fairy Story...

ILL MET BY MOONLIGHT by Portia Da Costa [in Magic and Desire]



The inspiration for ILL MET BY MOONLIGHT germinated long, long ago as the idea for a vampire story that I was considering writing for a different publisher, not Black Lace. I'd never written a novella before, but I was intrigued by the idea of creating a shorter piece, something very tight and driven by a very simple and intimate storyline, yet shot through with the magic of the paranormal. I'd first flirted supernatural erotica back in 1996, with GOTHIC BLUE, but since then I hadn't written any more paranormals.

I first 'saw' the idea for ILL MET... while watching an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I can't remember which one, but in it, Spike is crouched on the top of a high wall or gatepost, then he leaps off it, descending almost in slow motion, his fabulous black coat billowing around him like the wings of a great dark bird until he touches down on the ground, as lightly as a feather. When I saw that incredible move, I just knew I had to write a story in which the hero did the same thing...

I didn't write the story straight away, as other ideas and commissions came along, but I still kept thinking about that image from time to time, and drawing together bits and pieces of plot and characterisation to flesh it out.

Eventually the call came for the Black Lace paranormal erotic romance collections, and it seemed the time had come to write my 'black coat' story. However, I'd moved on from crushing on James Marsters to crushing on Vincent D'Onofrio, so the mysterious dark clad figure who leapt down from a high vantage point had morphed quite a bit. Not least of all, I'd decided to make him a fairy rather than a vampire... a big, butch, muscular and very masculine fairy with a naughty and very powerful magic wand inside his black denim jeans!

And thus, Robin was born. A creature of energy and magic power who, every year during May, is able to assume human form and experience all its myriad physical sensations and pleasures, as well as taste the joys and the anguish of our complex emotions. Year after year, he indulges his curiosity, but then during one Maytime, Lois, a lone young woman comes to stay in a holiday cabin on the edge of the fairy wood, and Robin himself becomes enchanted, and compelled to take steps that he's never taken before...

In this very short, not particularly explicit excerpt, Lois has just woken up from a vivid erotic dream, induced by Robin, and she wonders why on earth there's dust [of the fairy variety] all over everything... and why she can still smell the intoxicating odour of the lover she's just been dreaming about. At the same time, Robin, the unusual and curious fairy and part time human, muses on his temporary condition and how it feels to experience tangible physical sensations and the wild, confusing emotions of lust and passion...


Why the hell is this stupid place suddenly covered in dust? It wasn't here earlier… Where is it all coming from?

The cabin had been impressively spick and span when she'd arrived but now, a delicate veil of dust lay over most of the surfaces and drifted across the floor. There were even whorls of scattered over the bed and on the pillows, with several strange heaps against the head and the foot rails.

What the f…

She shivered. She sniffed the air. And then tentatively, almost reluctantly, she slipped a hand down into her knickers and touched her wetness.

Of which there was a lot. Far more than there ought to have been from simply playing with herself.

But it wasn't the quantity that bothered her, it was the way it smelt.

As she withdrew her fingers, a familiar odour made her head spin.

Lavender… It was lavender… Why does my crotch smell of lavender?

Pulling the quilt over her head, she tried hard not to think.

In human form, Robin crouched on the woodshed roof and tasted the flutters of fear in Lois's mind.

No, this was not what he wanted. Not at all… He'd wanted to give her pleasure, not scare the living daylights out of her. Savouring the physical sensations of sighing, he sent out his mind, and touched hers again, filling it with soothing waves of peace that granted sleep.

There, that was better. Unable to resist the temptation, he disassociated and floated through the roof of the cabin so he could be close to the new object of his attentions.

Touching down, he re-associated, and stood by the bed, just looking at her. Not that there was much to see with human eyes. She was curled up beneath the thick quilt like a hibernating dormouse, and only a few tufts of her tousled blonde hair were protruding from the top of it.
There was much to be said for being what he was though. If she woke up now, and emerged from her hiding place, she would see a man… but what she couldn't perceive were the powers he still retained.

He could see through the quilt to the pretty face, and even prettier body that lay beneath.


She was delightful and complex and Robin liked that. Connecting with her gave him everything that was delicious about assuming human form. Every year in the month of May, when the transformation was possible, he tasted and interacted with humans, feasting indulgently on their complicated and sometimes turbulent feelings. His own kind had emotions, true, but they were mild, bland and somewhat basic. Contentment… Satisfaction… A kind of wistful regret, occasionally… The only emotion that had really stirred him while he was in his true form was curiosity. And in that, he knew he was unusual amongst his breed.

And one of the very few to pursue the ancient privileges of merry May…

But look where it had got him!

He was addicted now, perhaps polluted somehow. Even while discarnate, he was gripped by powerful yearnings. Feelings had filtered through by osmosis into the whole of his existence… and he only felt truly alive when he was 'human'… or as near as to that condition as he could approximate.

And tonight, with beautiful Lois, he'd almost believed for a moment that he was a man.


Read more about Robin the macho fairy in much naughtier excepts here and here.

Magic and Desire is available from Amazon.co.uk now, and from Amazon.com in July.

Leave a comment and you could be the lucky person who wins today's copy of MAGIC AND DESIRE. :)

Happy Reading!

Portia Da Costa
So fond of big, macho fairies...

The House of Dust

by Janine Ashbless

For the Magic and Desire collection I wrote a dark historical fantasy novella called The House of Dust. My Lustie buddy Olivia Knight sent me a few questions about it (see below). First though, a brief synopsis:

Setting: The land of Sumer (in modern times: Iraq), approximately 2600 BC.

Plot: Ishara, the narrator, is the high priestess of Inanna, the goddess of sex and love. Every year she is ritually married to the King and shares his bed for nine nights. But the story opens with King Tamuz dying; he has been poisoned by his step-brother Nergal. When Nergal takes the throne and proceeds to publicly insult the goddess and humiliate Ishara, she decides to seek magical vengeance. She will open the way to the Land of the Dead and descend through its seven gates – each with its demonic guardian - to negotiate with the Queen of the Underworld and bring the rightful king back to life…

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Olivia: What are you wearing and where are you sitting?

Janine: Well, I’m writing this while I’m waiting in the bathroom queue at a Dungeons & Dragons weekend … so, blue silk pyjamas and dressing gown. And red slippers. Apologies for the colour-clash.

O: The collection is fantasy, though yours is based on "true myth". Which parts of The House of Dust did you make up and which did you derive from mythology?

J: The House of Dust is based on two related myths from the Mesopotamian region, which was the cradle of civilisation and the place writing (and written fiction) were invented. The first myth is The Descent of Inanna, which is about how the great love goddess journeys into the underworld to confront her sister the Queen of the Dead. This original myth includes the death and resurrection of Tamuz and the image of a seven-gated Underworld, at each gate of which Inanna has to remove a piece of her sacred regalia (her crown, her necklace, her belt etc) until she reaches her destination naked and powerless. Some suggest this story is the original of the "dance of the seven veils." In HoD my heroine is the priestess of Inanna and also treats this story as myth – only, because it is a myth about her goddess, she can use it to do the same thing by magic: open the way to the Underworld and go down.

The second myth I use is a chunk of The Epic of Gilgamesh which deals with the stand-up row King Gilgamesh has with Inanna. Basically she says "Phwoar, come and get it, Big Boy," and he says "No way, you dirty slag," and then she gets really angry and releases the Bull of Heaven on him, which he kills. I used that for the political struggle that provides the background to my heroine’s quest. For certain reasons I transferred the struggle between Inanna and the King to Gilgamesh’s father, that’s all.

O: How did you come to choose ancient Sumer for the House of Dust?

J: This was a story I felt I had to write. Look, The Descent of Inanna is among the oldest – if the not the oldest – story ever told by human beings and written down: it’s at least 5500 years old (but incredibly long-lived: the death and return of Tamuz was still being ritually commemorated across the Middle East right into Christian times). And it’s about a woman undertaking a quest. And in it she has to remove her clothing piecemeal! How could I not turn it into an erotic story?

Also the fragments of the myth we still have date from different times (they were adopted by different cultures and rewritten over thousands of years, during which Inanna mutated into Ishtar who was goddess of war as well as sex) and are sometimes contradictory. For example, some versions say that Inanna descends in order to rescue Tamuz, some that the King dies because she orders it upon her return. Some have the Queen of the Dead single and lonely, some give her a husband. Some fragments treat Inanna and Gilgamesh as allies, but the later ones have him behaving with incredible hostility and rudeness toward her (and suffering as a consequence). I wanted to write a version that "explained" all these contradictions and how people might have got confused. To be honest, I was probably being just a tad ambitious for a sex novella.

And I have always been fascinated by Land of the Dead stories and wanted to write one. The question of what (if anything) awaits us after death is universally intriguing.

O: We’re both obsessed by ancient cultures to the point where we’ve had to divvy them up so we don’t tread on each other’s toes! Why do you like these so much as settings for erotic novels?

J: You’re not kidding about our shared obsession! I was writing The House of Dust when I first heard about the publication of your story Inanna's Temple (in Sex in Public): both deal with the ritual Great Marriage where the priestess of Inanna has holy sex in front of everyone, and my squeal of horror was pitched to break glass. Luckily they are very different takes on the subject!

Why do I like ancient civilisation settings? Ooh … warmer weather, fewer clothes, fabulous temples and exotic gods. Sounds like I’m on holiday, doesn’t it? The serious answer is, I think, to do with suspension of disbelief. I do write contemporary erotica but in a modern setting my natural reactions to, ahem, challenging erotic situations are more likely to intrude and I can’t help a part of my mind muttering "She would really be horrified/call the police/sue for sexual harassment." I like writing in settings where I am not bound by modern social rules and standards.

O: Your stories inevitably walk the dark side of fantasy and The House of Dust becomes very dark with Ishara’s descent into the underworld. Is that about the erotic potential of darkness, or the kinds of plot you prefer? Do you see yourself as a "dark" writer?

J: I see myself as someone who writes about the redemptive light of love and passion shining in the darkness. (The House of Dust has a happy ending, I promise!)

There are two different types of darkness in this story. The first is the sexual: my heroine undertakes a journey of submission, surrendering her power and identity and ego as she goes down through the Seven Gates. The necessary ordeal brings her to new understandings of mortality, herself and her relationship with the man she loves. It allows her to save him. She is broken down and rebuilt as a wiser, better and stronger person.

The second kind of "darkness" is that this is a story that begins with the death of the heroine’s lover. It is about loss, grief and death. My vision of the underworld is true to the source myths and not particularly pleasant.

Yes, it’s a dark story. It has to be to make its point: love is what matters.

O: The queen passes seven Gatekeepers to reach the Underworld and they each demand something different from her. Which is your favourite? What does that say about you?

J: My favourite is probably this passage here – the Second Gate. I had a lot of fun playing with sub themes for this novella. And it includes my favourite line of the story.

Later on Ishara encounters the scorpion-men guarding the Sixth Gate and I loved this image too: "then I see them, because when they move they generate a flickering light like the dance of distant lightning. There are four of them, bigger than oxen. Their rear parts are the bodies of scorpions and from the front grow the bodies of men. All parts are covered in black chitinous plates, and when those plates rub together the light flickers into being, illuminating their staring faces. Venom-laden tails arc high over my head."

Push, push, push the envelope of what is acceptable…

O: And your favourite line of your own story is…?

J: The House of Dust contains my favourite line of all time!

‘Do you suck cock, Queen of Heaven?’

I can’t read it without a big evil grin.

---

So, for a hot and wicked excerpt go over to my blog. And to win a copy of Magic and Desire, just drop a comment here or at my blog and I’ll pick someone at random – winner announced in Coming Attractions this Sunday.

And come back on Wednesday and Friday to see what Portia and Olivia made of the Magic theme – and for more chances to win!

xxx
Janine
My Website : My Blog

Coming attractions

The new novella collection is out: Magic and Desire: three lovely long stories of dragons, gods, elves, underworlds, and other such fantastic matter.

On Monday, Olivia Knight interviews Janine Ashbless (a.k.a. her evil twin) about her novella, The House of Dust.

On Wednesday, Portia da Costa takes center-stage - with a fairy, and her story Ill Met by Moonlight.

On Friday, Olivia Knight talks about building the world of The Dragon Lord.

PLUS each day, sweet salacious excerpts from the fantasy trio, and an opportunity to win the book. We'll be giving away 3 copies, so comment on every post for another chance to win. Winners will be announced next Sunday, 11 May.

Magic and Desire - available in the UK

Happy May Day!

This is traditionally a day for frollicking in the greenwood and sex magic so it's great that Magic and Desire, the three-novella anthology, is out today in the UK!

Three authors: three stories of sorcery and lust. We'll be showcasing it next week but just in case you can't wait:

Amazon.co.uk

xxx

Janine

Works in Progress

Deannna Ashford

Our smuts slots have brought you, dear readers, excerpts from our latest novels just before or around about the dates of their release and judging by your comments you appear to like these tasty tit-bits. However we writers don’t want to think that we laze around in our beds half the morning drinking coffee and eating chocolates, that couldn’t be further from the truth. Although we must admit that on occasions we ladies do indulge ourselves a little. Nevertheless, we write because that is what we really want to do. As the writers among you will know writing is a compulsion that takes one over at times.

We therefore decided that you might enjoy occasional little peeps at our work in progress and consequently this new post was born. From now on at fairly regular intervals we will be whetting your appetites with short excerpts from our work in progress - whether it be our next book, a novella or a short story.

To start this off this month’s offering consists of excerpts from the work in progress of Janine Ashbless and Portia Da Costa and the two extracts couldn’t be more different.

We start off with The House of Dust, by Janine, which is going to appear along with novellas by Portia and Olivia in Black Lace’s “Magic& Desire" collection in 2008.

Setting the scene - This story is set in ancient Mesapotamia. The main character is Ishara, priestess of the love/sex/fertility goddess Inanna and ritual wife of the king. When the story starts the king is dying - poisoned by his brother. Ishara eventually descends into the Land of the Dead to try to bring her lover back. The excerpt here is a flashback to happier times.

There on the balcony Tamuz found me in prayer, my hands raised to the heavens. Softly he dismissed the company and came up behind me. I faltered in my words as he slipped his hands about my upper body, cupping my breasts as he pressed up against me.

‘Don’t stop,’ he murmured, kissing my neck. Such informality was permitted during the time of the Great Marriage, so I carried on praying while he rolled my nipples to points of exquisite frustration between his fingers and bit softly at my ears, tugging at the clusters of golden balls strung from my pierced lobes. I made it to the last verse in a stumbling rush, my spine arched so as to press my shoulders and my buttocks back against the hard wall of his body. I could feel little bolts of lightning chasing across my breasts and down to the wellspring of my sex, as if great Enlil himself were playing with my nipples. When Tamuz laid a firm hand upon my navel and slid it down to cup my pubic mound I gasped out loud. I wanted so much for him to set me face down over that low wall and root me there high above the flat roofs of Uruk, now touched with faintest pink from the approaching sunrise, so that I might encompass the whole of my realm with my eyes as he filled me, so that Utu the shining sun might blind me with his glory as I was made incandescent from behind and within. But Tamuz turned me instead and sat me upon the edge of the wall, lifting my skirts over my knees to reveal my smooth thighs and sliding his hands up their inner surfaces, all the way to the mound of my delta. I put my arms around his neck and drew him closer, my legs encompassing his. Gently, with the tips of his fingers, he stroked my purse until he broke the fragile seal of flesh and let the moisture within seep out.

‘Daughter of the Moon,’ he whispered, his eyes shining; ‘we’ve hardly met and yet I have wounded you sorely.’

‘You did,’ I breathed. ‘The pain is unbearable. My whole body cries out.’

‘Forgive me. I thought you might be healed by now.’ He circled the pomegranate-pip of my clitoris expertly, making me shudder. I dug my nails into his skin.

‘This is a wound that can’t be healed. You hurt me too deeply and now I must live with it forever.’

‘Can I make reparation?’

‘You might, if you are brave.’

His fingers were slippery now to the root, moving slickly in and upon my sex, stirring me beyond endurance. ‘And how shall I do that?’

‘You must staunch the wound,’ I said, parting the layers of his long kilt to reveal the length of his prick, the skin already taut and glistening; ‘with the weapon that made it.’ I took hold, and Tamuz’s expression made it clear I had his undivided attention. ‘It’s an ancient magic,’ I confided, my eyes wide and serious. ‘Only by wounding me again can you ease me of my pain.’

‘Then,’ he said, his voice hoarse, ‘I see you’re skilled in the magical art.’

My hand was working his copper to harder bronze. ‘Oh yes, my King.’

‘And it is my duty to help you.’ With infinite care, both of us breathing shallow and quick, he nudged into me, sheathing perhaps two-thirds of his length. The wall held me at just the right height for him.

‘Don’t let me fall,’ I whispered.

His arm tightened about my waist. ‘Never.’

* * *

The second excerpt is from Gothic Heat with is a sequel to Portia Da Costa’s popular novel Gothic Blue.

Setting the scene - Possessed by the discarnate spirit of the evil sorceress, Isidora, Paula Beckett has come to remote Sedgewick Priory with her lover Rafe Hathaway, in search of her friends, Belinda and Jonathan, who may be able to help find a solution to her predicament.

‘I thought this was a priory?’ Rafe rubbed rain out of his eyes, and peered at the structure, ‘It looks more like a baronial castle than a religious institution… Love the kitsch Gothic style…’ He pointed towards the dark, elaborate building that seemed to sit and sneer at them from amongst seven circles of hellishly overgrown formal garden. ‘Shit, it’s even got a Rapunzel tower!’

‘It doesn’t look as if it wants visitors, does it?’ Paula followed Rafe’s pointing fingertip to the peculiar tower, perched atop one corner of the rambling, black windowed priory. She’d never seen a less welcoming place in her life, and a tumbling festering structure that might have been a chapel, set to one side, didn’t help matters. Flickers from the lightning seemed to suggest blue wraiths drifting in and out of its broken down stones.

‘It doesn’t look as if anyone’s been here in centuries.’ Rafe blinked more water out of his eyes as it began to teem even more ferociously from the sky, ‘Are you sure your friends are here?’

‘No, not exactly sure… But I can’t think of anywhere else… They’ve disappeared from their workplace and their flat… and I can’t raise them on their mobiles…’

Indeed, it was just a hunch that Belinda and Jonathan had come back here. That, and an inkling she suspected she was getting from Isidora.

Within the chill from her sodden clothing, a deeper, older chill gripped her innards, making her sway.

Is this all a trick, you bitch? she demanded silently of her ‘guest’. Is there something here you want?

A lightning bolt crashed somewhere right over her head, and she shrieked with fear, tripping as eldritch laughter filled her head.

But instead of hitting the sharp, wet gravel, Paula experienced a moment of total disorientation as she seemed to fly up into the air. Grabbing wildly for purchase, she realised that Rafe had whisked her up off her feet and was holding her cradled in his arms, leather jacket and all.

‘I’m all right! Put me down!’ She wriggled, but his gentle hold didn’t yield.

‘No you’re not. You’ve hardly been sleeping and you’re worn out.’ Adjusting his grip on her, Rafe started off down the path that led to the house, carrying her effortlessly, ‘We need to get in there…’ He nodded towards the dark, unprepossessing building, with its glaring blank windows that glittered blackly. ‘Even if it is a ruin, at least it’ll give us some shelter until this lot dies down.’

‘I’m not sure… I’ve got a bad feeling about this place.’ God, how clichéd did that sound? Like something out of a low budget horror movie, complete with stock footage haunted mansion. ‘What… what if there’s something even worse than Isidora in there?’ Her arms tightened around Rafe’s neck as black, formless fears floated through her imagination, and she imagined that low voice saying, there isn’t anything worse than me, you little ninny.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from the ghosts and ghoulies.’ Rafe sounded almost cheerful, as if being half drowned by a rainstorm amused him rather than pissed him off. ‘I’m a big guy… I can handle myself.’

‘Oh, I’m sure everything will be just fine,’ Paula shot back at him.

Inside though, she felt a slow, honeyed thrill. There was something primal about being carried in a big man’s arms, and the heat of Rafe’s body was both reassuring and exciting. He was strong, she had no doubt about it, and her desire, which had been dowsed by the relentless rain, came storming back. A swift, raw scenario unfolded behind her eyes as her body rocked to the rhythm of his long stride. She saw him kicking down the door of the crumbling Priory, laying her down right there in the entrance hall or whatever… then ripping off her jeans and her panties and thrusting straight into her.

Well that's all for now but don't worry there will be a couple of tasty excerpts from two more ladies of Lust Bites in a few weeks.


Deanna