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Smut Restrained in the Wild or in the Dungeon

I’ve got multiple reasons for being excited about participating in the Smut Restrained Blog Hop today. First off, I adore Victoria and Kev Blisse, and I’m always happy to participate in an event they sponsor. Second, my very naughty, very al fresco m/m novella, Toys for Boys, which was first published in the Brit Boys with Toys Box Set, is now available for pre-order, and I’m elated to be able to share with you a little restraint al fresco. And third, the fantastic cover for Toys for Boys is the work of the very talented Kev Blisse.

 

 

What’s Smut Restrained all about? 

If you’re in the Manchester area on the 28th, join The lovely Smut Folks on Saturday 28th January from 1pm -5pm at Miss T’s Dungeon in Stockport.

There will be demonstrations with rope and chains, sexy readings and lots of time to get hands on with the restraints and toys of your choice – bring your own gear or borrow some once you arrive, it’s up to you.
There’s be an experienced rigger on hand to give advice and answers your rope questions. There’ll also be other experienced doms and subs eager to answer any kinky questions you have.

The world famous erotic tombola will also be a highlight of the day with some spectacular prizes to be won from some truly fabulous companies.  Definitely worth having a go at just £1 for 3 tickets.

There will be lots of time to play in any way you like using all the facilities of Miss T’s well kitted out dungeon as well as time to socialise too.

 

Pick up your tickets here:

https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/smut-restrained-tickets-28725102555

Tickets cost £5.80 with fee in advance or £10 on the door but please let me know if you’re planning to turn up on the day – I don’t want to have to turn anyone away if we get full!

 

Join the facebook event here:

https://www.facebook.com/events/311997799169132/

 

 

Toys for Boys Blurb:

Alpha nerd Will Charles teams up with Caridoc ‘Doc’ Jones in a coast to coast walk across England reviewing outdoor gift suggestions for the Christmas edition of Toys for Boys—an online magazine dedicated to the latest gadgets to tickle a man’s fancy. Will is recording their adventures with the latest smart phone technology. Doc is reviewing the latest outdoor gear. The two quickly discover the great outdoors provides even better toys for boys, toys best shared al fresco, toys that, in spite of Will’s great camera work, will never be reviewed in Toys for Boys.

 

Warning: Adult Content: 

Toys For Boys — Low Tech & High Tech Goes Wild – Excerpt:

 

Toys For BoysThe second day they walked in sunshine. It was another fourteen and a half mile trek, in addition to what they’d not been able to finish the day before. Will seemed no worse for wear. Doc had to admit he was beginning to enjoy the man’s company—not just because of his nice arse or their little exchange this morning, but because he was a good walker. Like Doc, he was comfortable with his own silence, silence which was companionable in the long, indulgent stretches of it they shared on the trail. The man’s pace was good, he never lagged and he never complained. He used his toy effectively and way more subtly than most tourists with cell phones—not counting this morning’s little indiscretion, that is. They’d taken to using the personal pronoun for the smart phone, myBrain, urBrain, even occasionally ourBrain.

At the top of Loft Beck the two looked out across Fleetwith to the ruined tramway track, which led down to Honister Slate mine. He watched Will shooting a video of Buttermere and Crummock Water stretched out in the lazy autumn sun, reflecting the sapphire Lakeland sky like giant mirrors. “The panoramic beauty is quintessential Lakeland,” Will spoke into the device in a low, conversational voice, but made no attempt to hide his excitement. He was saying something about Moses Trod and the old whisky smuggling route.

It pleased Doc way out of proportion that the man had clearly done his homework concerning the places they walked. As Doc joined him near the ruined barbed wire fence, Will turned the camera on him and said something about Doc’s abilities in the outdoors that he couldn’t quite catch, but the smile the bloke offered suggested it was either complimentary or playful. Doc didn’t mind either; in fact, he kind of liked having the device turned on him, being the centre of Will’s attention—as long as he wasn’t naked with his cock in his hand.

They stopped for an indulgent ice cream at the slate mine’s visitor centre before they made the trek down Honister Pass, along the Derwent River and on into the Rosthwaite area, where they set up camp along the river behind a willow thicket that gave them some privacy. It was Doc’s favourite place to camp along the Derwent, but he hadn’t chosen it without ulterior motives, and surely Will had to suspect something when they set up two tents, but used one just for stashing the gear.

Once camp was set up, they shared a pleasant cup of tea, discussing the events of the day. They’d made up the lost mileage and arrived in record time. With the map spread between them and urBrain in hand they spent a pleasant half an hour going over tomorrow’s

dramatic walk to Patterdale, anticipating good weather. When Will went off to the river to get water for dinner and washing up, Doc made his move. He pulled out his Vitronox and cut a slender willow branch about the size and flexibility of a good riding crop.

By the time Will returned with water, he was paring the last of the twigs and leaves, except for the two at the very tip. He had plans for those. Will paused only briefly to take in the situation, then set down the water and came to stand in front of him. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, I think you know exactly what’s going on, Nerd Boy.” He folded his knife and stuck it back in his pocket, then stood and gave the willow switch a good brisk snap against his hand. “I told you this morning it wasn’t over.”

“Are you serious?” Will eyed the switch, then shot Doc an uncertain glance. “You can’t be serious.”

“Couldn’t be more so.” Before the bloke could protest further, Doc caught both his wrists up in a length of lightweight rope he carried with him for emergencies. With the switch in one hand and the length of rope in the other, he led Will—who was either too surprised, or too intrigued to protest—to a young oak and secured his arms so that he was leaning forward embracing the trunk, arse nicely presented.

“You’re not seriously going to…” Will’s voice trailed off into a breathless gasp as Doc gave him a proper pat-down until he found the urBrain in the front pocket, close to a growing stiffy. Oh, this was going to be good.

“Now, let’s see if I’ve been paying attention to your little demos on how to work this thing. Ah yes, here we go. Camera on.” Will had given him the pass code with the idea that he could give a better review if he could see how easy the phone was for a non-techie person to operate. “I’d give this little baby an A-plus for being user friendly,” Doc said. “And it’s important to have a user friendly camera in a place where the views are so spectacular. Now then,” he focussed the urBrain on his handiwork, “you won’t be needing these.” With one hand, he gave the thin walking shorts a hard yank down over Will’s hips and was treated to a gasp of surprise that resulted in a clench and release of the well-muscled arse.

“You fucker,” Will half hissed, half chuckled as Doc manoeuvred the shorts off over the man’s walking boots and kneed his legs apart to offer the best view and easy access, all the while videoing with the other hand, switch gripped under his arm.

“Not yet, I’m not, but I’m hoping. First,” he brought the tip of the switch in between Will’s legs so that the two remaining leaves tickled and stroked his balls. The man jerked, sucked air between his teeth, and his cock surged. “First, we have some unfinished business.” Then he brought the switch up with a sharp snap against those exposed engorged balls.

“Bloody hell!” came the response. Will’s whole body jerked and tensed, but especially his expanding cock.

Doc shoved the camera in his pocket, and moved in. He grabbed the bloke by the hair, pulling his head up to give him a thorough but brutal tongue kiss, to which Will fucking Charles responded by moaning into his mouth, his tongue making for a right nice welcome. Then he gave a harsh grunt and flinched at the sharp thwack of the switch across his bare left buttock, his mouth round with surprise, his pupils dilated with something else. “The more you talk, the more welts your arse gets, and possibly your balls too. So what’s it gonna be, William? Keep quiet and take your punishment so we can get to the good parts?” He gave the man’s cock a hard squeeze. “Or get extra stripes and go to bed frustrated? Besides,” he added, caressing the very fine balls, “I can tell you’re not opposed to a little pain. Now shut up and hold still. I’m anxious to test urBrain.”

Will nodded his agreement and glanced over his shoulder to watch.

Doc pulled out the phone and began to record as the next stripe came down nice and red and raised against the other pristine arse-cheek. “I’m not the photographer you are, my lad, but this is going to be a work of art, if I do say so myself. Your little toy is making my little toy a whole lot more fun to play with. Who knew high tech and low tech could be so… compatible?” He laid three more welts in fast succession across the tense arse, recording its grip and release, grip and release around the mouth-watering O displayed so invitingly at the centre.

“The device has a great microphone, too.” He leaned in again and bit Will’s neck. “All the better to hear you with,” he said, taking in the enticing mish-mash of sounds coming from deep in the man’s thick chest, any one of which might be pain or pleasure. He was surprised to hear that his own soundtrack, laid down next to Will’s, was equally ambiguous and, while he wasn’t experiencing any real pain, there was a good deal of… strain against the fly of his walking shorts, and his balls felt as heavy as river rock.

He shoved the switch back under his arm and went to work on his fly, zooming in for a close-up of Will’s clenching anus pillowed between buttocks latticed with nice red welts. “William, William, William, it’s a good thing you’re walking tomorrow rather than sitting on your wounded bum.”

In response, Will raised up on his toes and lifted his hips, presenting himself like a mare in heat and, fuck, if Doc didn’t feel like a stud ready for service and needing to unload. He gave the displayed balls two light snaps with the switch and then dropped it onto the ground.

 

Lily Harlem’s Hot Ice Series Re-Released

 

 

Lily Harlem’s sexy Vipers have been re-released and are available on Kindle Unlimited for the first time.

 

HOT ICE is a series of hockey-themed 7 novels, the first HIRED is only 99c/99p, and the 7th, RUSSIAN HEAT, comes with a FREE bonus short story ROOKIE RULES. They are predominantly M/F erotic romances with the exception of HIGH-STICKED which is M/M and TEAMWORK which is menage a trois. Go on…get lost in Lily’s bad boys of the ice and the women who tame them.

 

HOT ICE BUY LINKS

 

 


Excerpt from HIRED

“You grab the cushions,” Logan called over the noise of the flapping shrubbery. “I’ll anchor down the parasol.”

Unlocking the door to the living area, I grabbed three pillows and chucked them inside. I went back for the other three then tumbled in, half shutting the door behind myself. My hair was wild, my cheeks stung and my heart pounded as I caught my breath.

I watched Logan close the umbrella and secure the pole into place. He glanced around, shading his eyes with his hand, checking for anything else that might blow away, then headed my way with a train of dry, flat leaves skittering past his feet. I opened the door wide to let him through. He stepped in, still squinting against the dust, as I pushed the door shut with a loud click.

The world went silent. After the howling wind and the roaring sea, the quiet of the house was acute and heavy and fell around us like a dense cloak.

Leaning back against the door, I pulled in a deep breath. “Made it,” I gasped.

“Yeah,” he said, stepping up close—real close.

When I looked up, his cheeks were stained red, several grains of sand hung in his long lashes and his hair was tousled and dusted with gold. “Is that everything tied down?” I asked, trying to ignore my breasts heaving against my halter-top.

“Well, almost everything,” he said with a decidedly carnal grin.

I flattened my palms against the cool glass door behind me. “What else do you need to tie down?”

The right side of his mouth creased upward and he gave the tiniest of twitches with his eyebrows. “I’d like to tie you down,” he said, his gaze coming to rest on my mouth. “To the bed.”

My stomach knotted as excitement, anticipation and sin collided in a delicious tangle.

“But I guess that’s moving a bit fast,” he murmured, bending his head lower. “We only just met.”

“A bit fast for me,” I agreed, absorbing the burning heat from his body as it radiated toward mine.

“Brooke.” He raised one hand and rested it against the wooden doorframe by my left ear. He moved in closer still. The gorgeous spiced aftershave he wore invaded my nostrils and settled not just on my tongue but somewhere else deep inside me. “You remember when you walked out the water yesterday?” he asked in a low, rumbling voice.

“Yes.” How could I forget the toe-curling embarrassment? He’d stared silently as me as I’d ambled up the beach, trying desperately to look cool and unflustered. I felt my cheeks warming further at the memory as my stomach twisted.

“It was a million times better than any Bond movie.”

“It was?”

“Hell, yeah. If they had you as a Bond girl it would be my favorite film. Not just 007, but any film ever.” His mouth slid upward in a grin. “You just about blew my mind.”

“I did?” He’d liked what he’d seen, and I thought he’d been unimpressed with my curvy attributes.

“Oh, yeah, my mind and other parts of my anatomy.”

He ducked his head, his lips a whisper from mine. I could almost taste the salt on his mouth.

“Well, we wouldn’t want that would we, Logan?” I murmured.

“Wouldn’t we?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Sounds painful.” I swallowed, my throat tight.

“It’s already getting painful.” He shifted his weight to the other foot. We were so close now my breast brushed against his chest and my nipples, which had tightened to hard pinched peaks, scraped against him through my clothing.

I reached up to touch his jaw, his bristles catching on my fingertips. Our gazes connected and I rose onto the balls of my feet and pressed my mouth to his.

He opened up and took immediate control of the kiss. He tasted so good—man and ocean, wind and sun—he tasted of everything I was missing in my life and had been for so long. I moved my hands to his shoulders and squeezed hard muscles through his soft cotton shirt. My tongue searched for his and began to explore his mouth.

Logan groaned and let go of the doorframe, cradling the base of my skull in his palm and winding his other arm around my waist. He pulled me close and as the length of our bodies touched, right in the very center of my abdomen, he pressed his steely erection forward. He was right, he was painfully hard.

“Damn, you taste good,” he murmured, trailing a gentle kiss across my cheek.

I tipped my head back and let him explore the base of my ear, the angle of my jaw and the hollow of my throat. “I taste like salt,” I said.

“You taste of the beach and flowers and coconut,” he whispered between kisses. “Delicious.” He pulled back slightly, slipping his fingertips under the shoulders of my cardigan and easing it down my arms. It fell to the floor and he slid his palms back up over my elbows to the base of my neck.
Each tiny section of flesh he touched came alive with sensation and pricked with greedy little goose bumps searching out his caress. I found his mouth again and ran my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. I pulled his head to mine harder. I wanted more. Much more.

He was busy, fiddling with the knot at the back of my halter-top. It was cleverly designed with a fitted bra, it had cost a fortune but was well worth it. I felt it slipping free and pulled back from the kiss, crossing my arm over my chest and gripping my opposite shoulder to hold it in place.

“What’s up?” Logan asked, his eyes heavy with desire and his voice thick with lust.

“I’m…I’m big,” I said in a rush then felt silly for saying something so insecure and obvious.

“Me too,” he said, a provocative grin playing on his mouth.

 

 

About Lily Harlem

 

Lily Harlem lives in the UK and is an award-winning author of erotic romance. She writes for publishers on both sides of the Atlantic including HarperCollins, Totally Bound, Pride, Evernight, All Romance eBooks, and Stormy Nights Publishing. Her work regularly receives high praise and industry nominations.

Before turning her hand to writing Lily Harlem worked as a trauma nurse and her latest HarperCollins release, Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse draws on her many experiences while nursing in London. Lily also self-publishes and The Silk Tie, The Glass Knot Cold Nights, Hot Bodies Bite Mark and Shared have been blessed with many 5* reviews.

Lily writes MF, MM and ménage a trois, her books regularly hit the #1 spot on Amazon Bestseller lists and Breathe You In was named a USA Today Reviewer’s Recommended Read of 2014. Her latest MM novel is Dark Warrior and you can grab Part One of her series Caught on Camera for FREE! Don’t miss HOT ICE a popular hockey series, again first book FREE!

Lily also co-authors with Natalie Dae and publishes under the name Harlem Dae – check out That Filthy Book which has been hailed as a novel ‘every woman should read’ and is available in book stores nationwide.

One thing you can be sure of, whatever book you pick up by Ms Harlem, is it will be wildly romantic and down-and-dirty sexy. Enjoy!

Check out Lily’s website for details of her other books and her Amazon Author Page. Subscribe to her newsletter to get a FREE ebook and be the first to hear of new releases and free reads, and if you enjoy Facebook, hop on over there and say hi!

 

 

Find Lily Here:

 

Website http://www.lilyharlem.com/

Newsletter Subscription http://www.lilyharlem.com/newsletter.html

Blog http://www.lilyharlem.blogspot.com/

Twitter https://twitter.com/lily_harlem

Facebook https://www.facebook.com/lily.harlem

Facebook author page https://www.facebook.com/LilyHarlemAuthor

Pinterest http://pinterest.com/lilyharlem/

Raw Talent http://rawtalentseries.co.uk

BritBabes http://thebritbabes.blogspot.co.uk

Google+ https://plus.google.com/u/0/106837751333678531161/posts

Harlem Dae http://www.harlemdae.com

 

 

Ashe Barker New Release The Laird and the Sassenach

  It’s a pleasure to begin the new year with Ashe Barker as my guest. Ash is here to tell us about her new, very steamy book, The Laird and the Sassenach. Be prepared for some Highland historical erotic romance that’ll definitely heat up your January. And while the holiday season my be over, Ashe is still in a giving mood, so be sure to sign up for the rafflecopter. Ashe is giving away a free ebook — reader’s choice — to three lucky winners, so don’t miss out! 

 

 

   Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Laird

  She faces justice, truth, and a Laird’s vengeance

 

 

Hi K.D. and thank you so much for asking me over to chat about The Laird and the Sassenach. The book is set on the Isle of Skye in the Scottish Highlands in the 1400s, one of my favourite periods of history and in my opinion one of the most evocative and atmospheric. It’s easy to create a sweeping drama against such a stunning backdrop, and the scenery remains pretty much as wild today as it was when my hero, Blair McGregor walked those hills as chief of his clan.

 

 

It’s some years since I was on Skye, but I remember my visit there vividly. It’s an isolated, windswept place blessed with stunning scenery as this picture will attest. The landscape is truly spectacular, beautiful and dramatic certainly but also rugged and harsh in many respects. The climate too can be equally unforgiving. I have no doubt at all that the clans of the medieval age had a hard time dragging a living from the land, not just surviving but thriving there.

Skye’s four-legged inhabitants too are made of stern stuff too. I recall driving along a coastal road, and rounding a bend to be confronted by a huge highland cow. These look cute and cuddly, but they have horns that could disembowel a tank. The animal planted itself in the middle of the road and showed no sign of wanting to move anytime soon. We tooted a bit, then a bit more. It just stared at us. We considered getting out and doing a sort of shooing thing, but did I
mention those horns? He – or she – looked placid enough but in my view even the most docile of highland cows deserve respect. Eventually we lured the bovine roadblock to the side of the road with a rich tea biscuit and carried on our way.

Our next encounter with the local wildlife was less peaceful. It was dark, we were on our way back to the bridge linking Skye to the mainland and had to pass through a wooded area. Suddenly something huge hurtled out from the trees into the road in front of us. Two somethings in fact. It was a pair of stags, involved in what looked to be a fight to the death.

I was driving and slammed on the brakes. The battle raged on, caught in the headlights in front of us. If the cow’s horns had looked daunting they had nothing on these bad boys. No way was a rich tea biscuit going to help us now. Nothing would. We cowered in our car while these two slugged it out, quite oblivious to their audience. At one stage one of the stags was on our bonnet – we had the dents afterwards to show for it – before the pair of them disappeared back into the trees, still locked in deadly combat.

Give me an angry Laird with a score to settle any day.

 

Speaking of which, here’s the blurb for The Laird and the Sassenach.

 

After her half-brother attacks the kinsmen of Blair McGregor, Lady Roselyn of Etal is brought before the stern highland laird to answer for her reluctant, unwitting role in the crime. Once she has told her story, she throws herself at his mercy.

 

Blair soon realizes that Roselyn is as much a victim of her half-brother as anyone, but his people’s demands for justice cannot be ignored entirely, so he strips the young Englishwoman bare and chastises her firmly with a switch applied to her naked backside.

 

The painful, humiliating punishment both assuages Roselyn’s guilt and leaves her yearning to be even more thoroughly mastered by the handsome laird. Though Blair makes it clear that she is free to return home, she instead chooses to remain with the him in his castle… and in his bed. Their passion soon blossoms into romance, but can the highlander protect his beautiful Sassenach when the villain who caused them both so much pain tries to tear her away from him?

 

Publisher’s Note: The Laird and the Sassenach includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

 

… and an excerpt:

 

“Will you beat me again?”

“Aye, if you deserve it. For disobedience or disrespect. I am master here and that will apply to all. But you would not find me cruel. Indeed, I believe you would find pleasure in what I offer.”

“Pleasure, my lord? I do not quite take your meaning.”

“Will you not own to the slightest stirring? You may deny your arousal but your body betrays ye, Roselyn. Your nipples are swollen, your eyes have darkened as you consider my offer. I believe if you were to spread your thighs for me now I would find you wet.”

“Wet?” She drew in a shuddering breath. “My nipples… it is chilly in here.”

“Nay, it is not. I banked up the fire afore I woke you. Stop making excuses and open your legs for me, Roselyn.”

“I will not.”

“Yes, you will, and you will do it now.”

“I…”

He trailed his fingers the length of her body, tracing a path between her breasts and across her flat stomach to her mound. There he teased the auburn curls which protected her most intimate place.

“Open for me.” He leaned in to whisper the words into her ear, his familiar male smell overwhelming her senses. He was spice, and he was musk, heather, pine, and something mysteriously unique, an essence which was only his.

Roselyn was lost, mesmerised. She rolled fully onto her back, even managed not to wince as her weight settled on her punished buttocks. Bending her knees a little, she allowed him to tease her thighs apart. His slid his hand between her legs and stroked her moist folds.

“Ah, so deliciously damp. Roselyn, you do indeed delight me.”

“My lord…” She was lost, her words buried under the waves of pure sensation. “What are you doing to me?”

“I am pleasuring ye, sweetheart. Be still for me, and open wider.”

As though in a trance, wrapped in fog of unaccustomed sensuality, Roselyn obeyed. She arched her back and let out a sharp cry as he slipped one long finger into her wet channel.

He paused. “Did I hurt ye?”

She shook her head. “No. It was… oh, please do that once more if you would.”

He thrust his finger into her again, then added a second digit. Unfamiliar sensations assailed Roselyn, both confusing and exciting. And intense. It was incredible, unbelievable. Her head whirled. She felt tight, stretched, yet at the same time she wanted nothing other than to spread her body open, to welcome this intrusion. He was right, this was about pleasure. It was a strange sort of joy, but she craved it nonetheless.

“That feels good, my lord.”

“My title is laird, not lord, but I believe we are on first name terms now. You will use my given name, most particularly when my fingers or indeed any part of my anatomy is lodged within your sweet cunt.”

“Oh, God…”

“Nay, just Blair will do.” He withdrew his fingers and resumed stroking her outer lips. He found a spot which brought Roselyn’s hips right up from the mattress. “Ah, now I see I have your complete attention. Perhaps you might like to practice using my name.” He paused in his sensuous rubbing and Roselyn moaned her need.

“Say my name,” he urged.

“Blair.” She whispered it.

He resumed the torturous caress. “Again. Say it again. Louder.”

She raised her voice a little. “Blair.”

“Better. And you will scream my name when you find your release.”

“My…?”

He took that most sensitive nubbin between his fingers and he squeezed. Something clenched within, deep in her core, and Roselyn longed for his fingers to be inside her tight channel again. She yearned to be filled, stretched, owned.

“Could you…? Blair, I need…”

“I know.” He continued to roll her sensitive flesh between his fingers, whilst he used his free hand to open that most secret place and plunged two digits into her again.

It was too much. Roselyn could no longer speak, could not even form a coherent thought. She could only feel as irresistible shudders rocked her slight form and her inner walls clenched helplessly around his fingers. She arched further, lifting her hips, pleading for something, anything…

“Oh, Blair. Blair, Blair, Blair!” She let out a keening wail as the sensations peaked and her body convulsed, then, gasping, she stilled.

 

Buy Links   Amazon   Barnes&Noble

 

Read Chapter 1 for free

 

Rafflecopter Link

Remember, Ashe is giving away a free ebook — reader’s choice — to three lucky winners, so don’t miss out!

http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/1f4e27b38/?

(runs until 7 January)

 

More about Ashe Barker

 

USA Today best-selling author Ashe Barker has been an avid reader of fiction for many years, erotic and other genres. She still loves reading, the hotter the better. But now she has a good excuse for her guilty pleasure – research.

Ashe tends to draw on her own experience to lend colour, detail and realism to her plots and characters. An incident here, a chance remark there, a bizarre event or quirky character, any of these can spark a story idea.

Ashe lives in the North of England, on the edge of the Brontë moors and enjoys the occasional flirtation with pole dancing and drinking Earl Grey tea. When not writing – which is not very often these days – her time is divided between her role as taxi driver for her teenage daughter, and caring for a menagerie of dogs, tortoises. And a very grumpy cockatiel.

At the last count Ashe had over forty titles on general release with publishers on both sides of the Atlantic, and several more in the pipeline. She writes M/f, M/M, and occasionally rings the changes with a little M/M/f. Ashe’s books invariably feature BDSM. She writes explicit stories, always hot, but offering far more than just sizzling sex. Ashe likes to read about complex characters, and to lose herself in compelling plots, so that’s what she writes too.

Ashe has a pile of story ideas still to work through, and keeps thinking of new ones at the most unlikely moments, so you can expect to see a lot more from her.

Ashe loves to hear from readers. Here are her social media links:

www.ashebarker.com

Facebook

Twitter

Instagram

Pinterest

Goodreads

Or you can email her direct on ashe.barker1@gmail.com

 

The Psychology of Dreams 101 Launches Today!

You’re Beautiful When you Dream!

 

I’m excited to start 2017 on a high note. It’s Launch day for The Psychology of Dreams 101! Who hasn’t had sexy dreams about a professor or a teacher or someone they’ve crushed on? And, seriously, is there anything more sexy than thinking about the psychology of what happens when dreams turn steamy?

The Psychology of Dreams 101 is the story of Leah Kent, who takes an adult education class called The Psychology of Dreams 101, which involves keeping a dream journal. But when her journal starts taking on a very sexy, sometimes chilly life of her own, and she finds her dreams tied to those of her professor, Al Foster, their joint exploration of the dream world goes from sizzling to chilling and back again.

The Psychology of Dreams 101 is an X-rated, fast paced novella in which nothing is what it appears to be, but then dreams are like that, aren’t they?

Here’s a little excerpt from Leah’s journey into the dream world. Enjoy.

 

 

The Psychology of Dreams 101 Blurb:

What if there was punishment when you didn’t dream the right dreams? That’s the dilemma Leah Kent, and her professor, Al Foster must face—dream right, or take the punishment. The Psychology of Dreams 101 is a wander into the sexy and dark unconscious as Leah takes a Psychology of Dreams adult education class, only to discover that the required dream journal leads to some seriously kinky night journeys. But not all dreams are pleasant ones, and some have far-reaching repercussions in the waking world.

 

Excerpt — Dream Punishment:

Perhaps it was OD-ing on romcoms that caused her to have sexy dream about Al. In truth they were mostly just images, disjointed, arousing, sometimes shameful images – images of walking into his office and finding him masturbating, images of somehow ending up in the men’s locker room at the gym and finding him in the shower, steamy water pulsing over strong arms and a tight ass as he hunched over himself paying particular attention to the soaping of his junk. There was one dream, however, that she remembered vividly. Al sat behind his desk in the empty classroom clad in his usual polo shirt and jeans. He had asked her to stay after. “I’m not happy with your dream journal, Leah,” he said, looking her up and down. She suddenly felt naked, embarrassed, and dreams being what they were, well she had good reason. She wore only red lace underwear that was nearly transparent; certainly they did nothing to disguise her heavy nipples. “When are you going to learn that all you have to do is just relax and let it happen?”

“I try, Al, really I do, but I just can’t seem to dream about you.”

“Then perhaps you need a little encouragement.” He stood and pulled his belt from its loops around his waist all the while raking her with a critical gaze. “If I lay a few bright pink welts across your nice round ass, do you think maybe when you lie down in bed tonight, when your poor tender bottom touches those clean rough sheets, you might manage to remember me in your dreams?”

“Yes. Yes, I think that might help,” she said. Fuck! What was she thinking? How could she agree to such a thing? And yet, she did, most heartily she did.

Before she could say more, or rethink the arrangement, he yanked her around the desk, dropped back into the chair and pulled her over his knees. He all but tore her panties off her and she woke screaming and begging just as the first lash fell. For a moment she lay in the darkness gasping for breath, struggling with the strange mix of emotions that came from wanting the man to spank her and yet not, but certainly wishing she could go back to sleep and finish the dream. She was wet with sweat and, was she imagining it, or did her bottom actually hurt? She was definitely not imaging her state of arousal. There would be no returning to the dream world until she could make herself a little more comfortable, and that meant fantasizing about just what Al would do after he’d finished spanking her. It didn’t take her long to bring herself over the edge, and then she fell almost instantly back to sleep.

It was the morning sun streaming through the curtains she forgot to close that woke her, disappointed that Al Foster had not returned to her dreamscape, though he had, nonetheless, provided her with a good orgasm. Certainly she couldn’t’ write any of those dreams in her journal. She might have to start a private journal just for sexy dreams – assuming this wasn’t a one-off. God, she hoped this wasn’t a one-off.

As she sat up on the edge of her bed and stretched, she noticed the dream journal open with the pen lying across the
page, which read:

You look beautiful when you dream. It was a good dream, the kind you don’t want to wake up from. At last, Leah,
you’re doing it right! You can always tell when you do it right by the way your nipples bead beneath the sheet, by the
way your lips turned up at the corners, slightly parted as though waiting to be kissed. And, take a sniff, Leah. Your scent is the scent of dreams well dreamed, luscious and ripe. Well done, Leah! Well done!

There was no doubt the writing was her own, though way neater than most of the scrawl she’d written at speed. The thing was, she had no memory of writing it.

 

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The Psychology of Dreams 101 is Now Available fore Pre-order

I’m very excited to announce that The Psychology of Dreams 101, which began its life as a serial,  is now available The Psychology of Dreams 101for pre-order as a novella in eBook format. You can get your copy from any of your favourite book sellers. Be warned up front though, this novella is a dark romp through sizzling sexy dreams that can very easily become nightmares. If you like a few chills with your sizzle, then The Psychology of Dreams 101 may be just the stuffer for you eReader stocking.

 

The Psychology of Dreams 101 Blurb:

 

What if there was punishment when you didn’t dream the right dreams? That’s the dilemma Leah Kent, and her professor, Al Foster must face—dream right, or take the punishment. The Psychology of Dreams 101 is a wander into the sexy and dark unconscious as Leah takes a Psychology of Dreams adult education class, only to discover that the required dream journal leads to some seriously kinky night journeys. But not all dreams are pleasant ones, and some have far-reaching repercussions in the waking world.

 

The Psychology of Dreams 101 Excerpt:

 

You look beautiful when you dream.

That was the first sentence; that was how it all started.

Leah thought it might be some sort of lucid dreaming when she saw the words scrawled across the page of her open journal on the nightstand. She’d had every intention of asking her instructor about it, but then she couldn’t really tell him the dream that had brought it on, could she? It sounded like the sort of thing the unconscious of a pathetically shy introvert would write to herself from the dream world because she had no one in the waking world to say it to her and, while that might be true—the pathetic introvert part, she didn’t want to make it more obvious to her instructor than it probably already was—especially when she had half a crush on him.

Besides, it also sounded like the sort of thing a sex-crazed slut might write to herself when her vibe batteries ran down. That made her sound even more pathetic—the vibe and the batteries part, not the slut part.

She had just started a course on the psychology of dreams. She tried to take advantage of adult education classes whenever possible. It got her out of the house and forced her to interact with other people—real flesh and blood people. With her job, online shopping, online banking, direct debit, grocery delivery, she never had to leave the house really, and that suited her just fine, but she knew it shouldn’t. She knew it wasn’t healthy. Sometimes going to the classes was more of an ordeal than a pleasure, but that was not the case for the psychology of dreams class.

She had to admit, she’d taken that course because she’d overheard several women giggling and talking about how hot the instructor was and how their dreams had become very sexy since they’d started his class. A part of the class work was to keep a dream journal. The women had been sitting at the table next to her in the coffee shop poring over their journals together and laughing about how they thought Al—Al Foster was the instructor—would respond when he read their dreams. She’d been taking a photography course then, and it had been one of the few times Leah had actually forced herself to initiate conversation, asking the women about the class. They were only too happy to share, and soon she was laughing and blushing and joking right along with them as they told her all about the psychology of dreams course and how it had truly stimulated their dream life. The next term, she signed right up.

A dream journal—that had sounded simple enough when Al—he’d insisted they all call him Al—had explained what it was. All she had to do was write down her dreams every morning when she woke up. But by the time she sat down at the breakfast table with her bowl of cereal and her coffee, dream journal and pen at the ready, she could remember nothing but bits of broken images—nothing dramatic, nothing with hidden psychological meaning—certainly nothing sexy.

After a week of drawing blanks from the dream world, Al had helpfully suggested that she keep the journal open by her bed, and that she set an alarm for every two hours. When the alarm went off, she was then to write just a few key words of what she remembered, words that would jog her memory in the morning.

The first time the alarm went off, she woke disoriented and confused. By the time she remembered why she’d set the alarm, she also remembered she’d forgotten to set the trash out for pick-up. She remembered that she needed to order some more vitamins online. She remembered that she needed to put the clothes in the dryer, but what she didn’t remember was her dreams.

The second alarm, she must have unconsciously shut off before she got fully awake, but on the third, she managed a little dream snippet about chasing a big dog through the local McDonalds, a dog who had shamelessly stolen her Big Mac right out of her hand. She hated Big Macs, and big dogs made her nervous. Well, that was at least something to analyze, wasn’t it? Though Freud had insisted that sometimes a cigar was just a cigar, surely that didn’t hold true for Big Macs, which she didn’t like, and big dogs, which she didn’t trust. Al would be pleased.

The second night there was a dream about a leather jacket with a huge snake for a collar, a snake that talked—kind of like a parrot. There was a dream in which she’d gone to the supermarket and ended up in a maze, unable to find her way out. There was a dream of planting begonias in front of the convenience store around the corner. For the rest of the week, she was excited to see that the setting of the alarms was working. Her key words helped her to remember details, and the rest was easy.

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© 2017 K D Grace
The Romance Reviews

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