Surrogates, Garden Porn and Inspiration

First of all, let me just do a little happy dance while I tell any of you out there who haven’t already heard me shouting about it (the ones who might have been in internet-deprived Outer Mongolia or just waking up from a coma) My new novella, Surrogates, is out! Rock on, garden porn! … er … should that be compost on, garden porn???

Garden porn! Ah yes, my favourite erotic topic. I’ve talked about the pleasure of getting my hands dirty before, and I’ve even discussed the many innovative uses for veg and garden implements. Surrogates is nothing if not creative with both. For those of you who don’t know what a dibber is, look it up, and I’m sure you can see where I’m heading – gently of course, gently!

My heroine, Francie Carter, is a master gardener who specialises in veg, or kitchen gardens, and she makes her living restoring walled kitchen gardens on large estates. You guessed it, Francie’s garden is a veg gardener’s wet dream come true. It’s a huge plot of postage stamp beds with grass paths in between. It comes with fruit trees, succulent beds of soft fruit, a large, heated, well-equipped greenhouse and  a state of the art staging area. All of that luscious yumminess is shielded and protected by a restored medieval wall. The garden Francie tends, on the estate of her kinky, neurotic lover, Daniel Alexander III, is my dream garden. Bet that comes as no surprise.

While I was writing Surrogates for Mischief Books and fantasising all the hot sex that would take place in the hot gardens, my husband and I were on the waiting list for an allotment. We had been on that waiting list for three long years and counting. Allotments, I figured, are about as close to a walled medieval garden on an opulent estate as I’m ever likely to get. Though, to be honest, after three years of waiting, I was beginning to wonder if my chances might be better with an opulent estate.

Just a week before Surrogates was released, we became the proud holders of a prime piece of allotment real estate, and suddenly our veg growing capacity went from whatever we could squeeze into our small back garden to a plot bigger than the whole property our house is on! Of course, like most allotments, the whole property is fenced in. Okay, it’s not a medieval stone wall, but it’s close enough for me. Though we don’t have a huge greenhouse like the one in which Francie partakes of some seriously hot sex with her two men, we have inherited a little blue garden shed, which I find very inspiring, indeed!

Unlike Francie, I’m no expert. I’m just a hobbyist, a hobbyist whose hobby suddenly got a whole lot more serious. My husband reckons we have about a half an acre! A half an acre, a little blue garden shed, a huge compost heap, and several kinds of mouth-watering soft fruit already planted. Be still my heart! It isn’t just that I’ll finally have space for lots of sweet corn and lots of peas, or that I’ll finally be able to put in that asparagus bed I’ve always dreamed of, but it’s the inspiration of it all. Even stories that are totally free of garden porn bubble up from the deep, filthy, romantic part of my unconscious when my hands are in the earth and I’m growing things to eat. A whole half acre of inspiration! AND a quirky blue garden shed. I shiver with anticipation!

And to celebrate the launch of Surrogates, here’s a steamy excerpt straight from the garden. Enjoy! (Be warned, this one’s a scorcher!)


DANIEL ALEXANDER III takes his marriage vows seriously. Until he gets the balls to ask his wife, BEL, for a divorce, watching each other masturbate is all he can offer his beautiful gardener, FRANCIE CARTER. But when Dan’s friend, SIMON PARIS, agrees to be his surrogate, affairs of the heart get complicated.


‘Francie? Francie, are you there?’ Dan made his way around behind the jungle of runner beans, getting a shoe full of warm moist soil when he stepped off the path. As the grit infiltrated his dress socks, he would have cursed his clumsiness, but then he saw her on hands and knees, the swell of her hips slightly raised in her efforts to pull stubborn weeds. She didn’t have to do that. She was the head kitchen gardener, a goddess in her domain. He hired underlings to do the weeding, but fuck, he was glad she took the hands-on approach, especially at times like this. She had kicked off the silly blue plastic gardening clogs she always wore, and her bare toes curled into the soft earth as though the very touch of it was an irresistible pleasure. How could soil between toes be so goddamned sexy?

The thin summer skirt she wore barely covered the heart-shaped roundness of her bottom, hugging her and clinging in the heavy summer heat to the delicious juncture where her thighs met. There were clearly no panty lines. She gardened in skirts, like she wanted to expose herself, like the act of planting and digging and cultivating made her a naughty bitch, who couldn’t get enough. But then that was the way he saw her in his fantasies, and oh shit, did he have fantasies about her! His cock jerked with insistence that nearly took his breath away. ‘There you are,’ he breathed, fingers already fumbling at his fly.

‘Go away. I’m busy,’ she said, giving some unfortunate weed an angry tug, an act the made the thin skirt quiver, made the firm muscles of her buttocks beneath clench and release. And his balls surged sending a testosterone buzz clear to the crown of his head.

He ignored the anger in her voice, well he didn’t actually ignore it. Her saucy temper made his cock even harder. ‘It’s all right, darling, you keep on working. Just lift your skirt for me.’ He grunted softly as he released his cock into his hand.

‘Lift it yourself. I said I’m busy.’

‘You know I can’t do that, sweetheart.’

She growled something particularly feral under her breath. He figured it wasn’t fit for polite company, which made him wish all the more that he’d heard it.

‘I’ve got such a load for you. I’ll come all over it if you don’t lift it for me,’ he said.

‘I have other skirts, Daniel.’ She only called him Daniel when she was really angry. ‘Why do I care where you come?’

‘Because you know where I really want to come, darling, and you have to know how badly I want it.’ He moved slightly to one side, not so far that her magnificent bottom wasn’t the centre of his attention, but far enough that, in her peripheral vision, she might catch a glimpse of him stroking his cock. Even if she couldn’t, she knew what he was doing, and he had no intention of being quiet about it. He lifted his balls free from his boxers and groaned at the feel of himself so full, so heavy for her.

She gave another angry yank at the offending weeds, and the resulting squeeze of her buttocks nearly sent him over the edge.

Buy Links:

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All Romance eBooks
Barnes & Noble


Elizabeth Coldwell is Cooking Up Trouble for The Secret Library

As I promised, more fabulous posts from the nasty authors of Xcite Book’s new Secret Library series. Today’s nasty author is in between those sexy velvet covers with me and Toni Sands in the Traded Innocence anthology. Please welcome the lucious Elizabeth Coldwell here to tell you a bit about her sizzling story, Cooking Up Trouble. Welcome Liz!

If there was one thing I’d put on my list, should I ever decide to compile what makes the perfect man, it would be an ability to cook. Much as I love demonstrating my own culinary skills, there’s something incredibly attractive about a man who knows his way round an omelette pan. And if he can do that flash style of chopping that reduces an onion to tiny dice within seconds, so much the better.

A man who loves food is a man who loves sex, or so it’s been claimed. That’s why I decided to set Cooking Up Trouble, my story in The Secret Library’s Traded Innocence collection, in the world of the TV cookery show. There have never been more chefs demonstrating their skills on our TV channels, whether that’s Heston Blumenthal doing something complicated with Gruyere cheese and dry ice, or the Hairy Bikers trading wisecracks while whipping up a soufflé on a tiny camping stove. Chefs have huge egos – at least the best ones do – which makes them perfect alpha male hero material, just waiting to meet their match in a feisty heroine who won’t sit back and meekly adore them, however gorgeous and talented they might be.

Scott Harley, who takes centre stage in Cooking Up Trouble, isn’t based on any one particular chef, though I did base his restaurant, the Ludgate Chop House, in Clerkenwell, a part of London I know quite well, and one where I’ve had my share of memorable meals over the years. He’s the kind of man who’ll pose naked to promote himself (while aiming to raise awareness of a charitable cause at the same time), and he won’t hesitate to insult any or all of his fellow chefs in the process (sound like anyone you’ve heard of?). Which is where Morgan Jones comes in.

Morgan is the new kid on the TV chefs block, a Rubenesque girl from the Welsh valleys who’s been on the end of Harley’s whiplash tongue before now. And that makes her more than a little wary of working with him when they’re chosen as the new presenting team on the long-running Saturday morning TV show, Cook’s Treat. She’s the queen of gooey desserts and sumptuous baked goods, the vice to Scott’s virtuous style. What neither she nor Scott expects is that when they finally meet in the flesh, their attraction will be instant and too hot to ignore, try as they might. The show’s ratings soar, propelled by their obvious chemistry together. But what will happen if their on-screen relationship moves to the bedroom – will they be able to stand the heat?

You can find out by reading Cooking Up Trouble, part of a tantalising triple bill alongside Toni Sands’ Traded Innocence and KD Grace’s Migrations. Bon appetit!

The good news is that Morgan Jones has landed her dream job, co-presenting the Saturday morning TV cookery show, Cook’s Treat. The bad news is she’ll be working alongside the hottest celebrity chef in London, Scott Harley. Voluptuous Morgan has never forgiven Scott for trashing her cooking style and physical appearance in a magazine article, but when she meets him in the flesh for the first time her reaction is very different. The attraction between the two of them is mutual and undeniable, but she’s determined not to fall for his obvious charms. Their chemistry on the show disguises the tension behind the scenes – a tension that grows more sexual by the day. Can she stand the growing heat – or should Morgan get out of the kitchen?


This can’t be happening, Morgan told herself. Of all the people to find herself so instantly, powerfully attracted to, why did it have to be him? Biting hard on the end of her ballpoint pen, she fought to keep the feeling buried. But as Lucinda began to outline the innovations she intended to bring to the Cook’s Treats format, hoping to gain an even bigger share of the Saturday morning audience than the show already attracted, Morgan found her thoughts wandering.

She pictured again the image of Scott naked but for the concealing saucepan, his magnificent body revealed for everyone to see. In her mind’s eye, he stood in exactly that same pose. Only this time, he moved the pan away from his groin, exposing a long, hard cock that almost invited her to touch it. She pictured herself unfastening the wrap dress she’d bought for the show. Her fantasy self wore no underwear, and, beneath the dress, Morgan’s body was a symphony of soft curves. Scott’s lips curved in a lustful smile at the sight of her full breasts, their nipples suckable peaks, and the fluff of dark hair on her mound, pussy peeking out between her rounded thighs.

Time seemed to stand still as they each eyed the other’s glorious nakedness, waiting to see who would make the next move. Then Scott took a pace forward, hand moving along his cock, pushing its velvety foreskin back so the head popped out from beneath it.

Morgan saw herself sinking to her knees before him, reaching out to take his thick shaft in her hand so she could feed the tip between her lips. His breath hissed out at the sensation of being enveloped in Morgan’s warm, wet mouth. Clutching him at the base, bobbing her head up and down so he almost, but not quite, fell from her lips with every pass, she licked and sucked till he couldn’t take any more. His warning cry gave her the opportunity to pull her mouth away. Instead, she held steady, gulping down every drop of his hot, salty …

‘So what do you think, Morgan?’

Swept away by her fantasy, it took Morgan a moment to realise the question was being addressed to her.

Find Elizabeth Coldwell here:

Traded Innocence is available from

Amazon UK
Amazon US
Xcite Books


Shshsh! It’s a Secret: Okay, Not Any More: The Secret Library and Road Trips

There’s something about being in the closed environment of a car moving down a long stretch of highway, watching the landscape change right before your eyes that’s a little bit magical. One of the best parts of a good road trip is that everything is in flux. I’ve always found it hard to doze when it’s not my turn to drive because I know every second my eyes are closed, an amazing landscape is passing me by.

I was fresh out of Uni and had worked a year in a small market television station in Montana. It was my first holiday. I was sort of on again off again with my landlady’s son, Lynn. He was making a cross country move and invited me to travel along as far as Missouri, where my friends and family were expecting me, and where I had planned to spend my holiday. It seemed like a good way to save money and have a great time, so we headed off across country on a crisp May morning.

We were planning to drive straight through, but ended up having car trouble somewhere in Eastern Montana in the late afternoon. Help came from a truck driver, whose CB radio handle was The Weatherman. We never learned his real name. It was only a temporary fix until we could get to a place that had the part we needed for Lynn’s truck. Lucky for us, Lynn’s truck was equipped with a CB, and he was well-versed in the protocol. When we headed back down the highway, The Weatherman was keeping an eye on us.

We travelled with him, bantering back and forth over the radios almost like we were really travelling together. The three of us had dinner at a truck stop en route. I don’t remember anything we talked about now, and nothing specific about the Weatherman and his life outside the closed environment of his truck. We travelled on through the night, across South Dakota, cosily tucked in our separate vehicles, only the soft crackle and pop of the CB connecting us. Sometime in the wee hours, we stopped at some little all-night diner on the edge of an Indian Reservation for coffee and homemade cinnamon rolls. Just after dawn, The Weatherman left us at some town that had a decent garage and continued his journey. I don’t even remember the name of the place now, but I do remember our sojourn with The Weatherman. For the biggest part of a day, our travels paralleled each other, and we were companions on the journey. Then The Weatherman went on his way, and so did we.

I never saw either of them again. Lynn settled in the DC area, where he had a job waiting. We stayed in touch for a while, then drifted apart. And who knew where The Weatherman ended up at. But for a little while he made our journey a whole lot more interesting.

The view from part of Val and Hawk's sexy road trip in Migrations.

The unexpected journey with The Weatherman is, to some degree, what inspired my novella, Migrations – that and a family trip from hell, which involved my mother, an adult niece and endless miles of whiny country music and audio romance novels. Somehow the two inspired one, steamy, romantic road trip of a novella, which is now in Xcite Book’s fabulous new Secret Library Collection in the Traded Innocence anthology. Each anthology contains three steamy, romantic novellas by some of erotica’s best authors. I feel very honoured to be included in such nasty, romantic, delisious company.

In the following few weeks as The Secret Library anthologies are released, I’ll be featuring some of the fabulous writers of those novellas on my website. The novellas are sexy and romantic and all done up in lovely discrete velvet covers. You can take them anywhere, and no one will ever guess your yummy little secret.

Here’s a little except from my novella, Migrations.


VAL HASTINGS, assisted by her do-gooder cousin, SALLY CLINE, is shanghaied into driving their AUNT ROSE across the US to visit her son. What begins as the trip from hell turns into a sexy adventure when they find themselves sharing the interstate with a mysterious, leather-clad biker. Aunt Rose and Sally are convinced he’s up to no good. But after Val catches him mid-wank at a rest area, and he offers her some steamy help to make her journey more enjoyable, she’s convinced he’s her nasty saviour.

Is HAWK, the biker, a murder, a free spirit, or something else? Whatever he is, animal attraction wins out over caution, as he joins the ladies for a cross country romp that keeps Sally and Aunt Rose nervous and Val hotter than her overheating engine.


Val nipped the tip of Hawk’s thumb playfully and looked around at the feeding cranes. ‘Bon appetit!’ She called, uttering a startled gasp when he pulled her down onto the grass, his mouth covering hers as he engulfed her in his warmth and his scent.

‘Is this payment for what I owe you?’ She whispered when he pulled away.

‘Only the first instalment.’ He pushed the jacket off her shoulder along with the straps of her tank top and bra and bathed the sensitive hollow of her collar bone in warm kisses and nibbles, causing her to squirm against him.

‘It’s a big one then? The debt I mean.’ She was finding it more and more difficult to think in coherent sentences as he cupped and caressed.

‘You could be in the hotel room with your auntie and cousin watching movies on demand.’

‘Enormous then,’ she groaned, pressing up against him.

‘Mmm. I doubt if you’ll ever be able to fully repay it.’ He insinuated one knee between her legs and wriggled and nestled until his groin pressed against hers, until she could feel the hardness of him through the rub of jeans against jeans. Then he went back to work on her mouth, his tongue dancing over hers and lapping at her hard pallet, as they rocked and shifted against each other, until the friction was exquisite.

He pulled away enough to shove her tank top up until her belly was bare, then he  kissed her just below the waist band of her bra where her ribs came together, causing her to inhale in tight little gasps. He licked and nuzzled his way down to her navel, while he opened her zipper and slid a hand inside the low waist band of her panties, clearing the way for his hungry mouth. She arched up to meet his kisses, as he slid her clothing down over her hips.

It felt as though she’d been waiting forever for this moment, as he caressed and suckled the landscape of her, exploring with his fingers, with his mouth, with his eyes, like Lewis and Clark discovering a new land, like Darwin discovering a new species.

The little moan that escaped his throat against her clit might have been from the feel of her so engorged and open and receptive, or it might have been from the feel of his heavy penis pressing through his jeans. Whatever the cause, she returned the moan and curled her fingers in his hair holding him to her undulating groin. The cranes were all around them, so close she could almost touch a feathered neck or a slender leg. She felt their singleness of purpose as though it were her own, and Hawk felt it too, she was sure he did.

He nuzzled and nipped and licked at the split of her, burying his face in the warm wetness of her, caressing her fullness with deep, expressive lavings. And when she was practically in a frenzy with the want of him, he pulled away and looked up into her eyes, his face glistening with her juices. ‘I don’t want to play this time, Val. I want the real thing. I want all of you. I want to be inside you.’

Buy Links:


Xcite Books


Amazon UK
Amazon US
Xcite Books


Soldiers and Lovers, a New Release by Kris Andersson

In the twilight year of the Edwardian age, two young boys, Eddie and Bertie, embark on an erotic adventure at the Great Hall, discovering the pleasures of male love as they explore their emotions and their bodies for the first time. But two acts of sexual betrayal will shatter their sensual idyll and soon the horrors of the Great War will change their lives forever. Only one of the boys will return from the trenches of the Somme to begin a fresh journey that will take him from the hidden gay bars of Soho, to the decadent bohemian world of artistic Chelsea and the pleasurable possibilities of life aboard a luxury liner. Soldiers, servants, businessmen, tycoons, artists and models – it seems like every man is a more than willing partner in this lusty, sex-fuelled romp through the early 20th Century

Chapter One

It was a cold damp November late afternoon, the first traces of fog beginning to fill the air as I walked along Regent Street, trying to look as though I belonged, as if I was part of the crowd that bustled in and out of shops, hailed cabs and jostled against each other, trying not to drop parcels as they hurried for the warmth of home.

I had been out since early morning, wandering the streets of the West End, looking in windows for the cards that suggested there might be work inside then, as the need to succeed became more desperate, finding the courage and the nerve to walk into shops, bars and restaurants and ask if there was work of any kind to be had.

The answer was always the same, a polite no from the kinder ones and a brusque refusal from those who had forgotten what it was like to be cold and hungry in a strange city where you have no friends and no prospects.

So now I was heading towards Piccadilly, wondering yet again why I hadn’t gone back to the Great Hall once I had received my Army discharge, one of the lucky thousands to have survived the trenches more or less intact while the men we had fought alongside remained in the mud of the French killing fields.

The answer was that there were too many memories back at the Great Hall, images that cluttered my mind as I stared without really looking at shop window displays of goods I could not afford, feeling the wet rising through the hole in the sole of my shoe, the damp of the thickening London fog taking hold of the fabric of my thin, shabby jacket.

Eddie would have laughed if he could see me now, tell me that I didn’t belong here, that London wasn’t the city for a country boy like me, that there would be a warm welcome waiting for me if I could only forget the past – a past that he could never return to.

We had arrived at the Hall together, two young men embarking on new lives as footmen, thinking we were about the escape the drudgery of rural life and only too late realising that domestic service was an even greater drudgery.

Every night we would escape to our tiny room up in the attic and collapse onto our thin iron bedsteads, falling straight into a deep sleep, knowing that in just five or six hours the hard daily routine would begin all over again, the austere Jordan, butler and master of the Servants’ Hall, watching out for every little mistake, every failure of protocol.

It was another night like this, the end of a wearying day of domestic chores in the cold and damp that Eddie first came into my bed.

“You don’t mind Bertie, do you?” he asked, as he pressed up against my back. “It’s so cold, I know I’ll never get to sleep – and nobody need ever know.”

I didn’t mind at all – in fact, I even enjoyed the sensation of his chest pressed against me, the feeling of his breath on my neck, his arm casually around me.

It reminded me that we were no alone, that there was a friend who felt just as lonely and far from home as I did.

It continued that way for a few nights, the simple pleasure of no longer feeling cold and alone but then perhaps a week later, I felt a movement against me that I recognised straight away.

Eddie seemed to be asleep but I could feel his cock stirring against the fabric of his nightshirt, pressing against the back of my leg –and I have to confess that, much to my surprise, I enjoyed the sensation and I had to stop myself from simply reaching back to grasp that fledgling boner in my hand and begin to stimulate it.

Available from:


Scarborough, UK to Host Saucy Seaside Smut Convention

I’ve lived in the UK long enough to know that the only predictable thing about the weather is that it’s unpredictable. However, there are exceptions. I can predict beyond a shadow of a doubt that there will be a sizzling, squirmy, humid heatwave in Scarborough on June 22nd next year. It’s the smutty kind of heatwave that guarantees fun, laughter and a heavy dew, and I promise, you won’t want to miss it.

April 2012, The North, United Kingdom.

Convention for erotica readers and writers to be held in the seaside town of Scarborough on June 22nd, 2013.

Do you like to be beside the seaside? Or more specifically, do you like to be smutty beside the seaside? If so, then the Smut by the Sea Convention and Erotic Marketplace is for you!

The brainchild of Victoria Blisse and Kevin Mitnik, with help from their glamorous assistant, Lucy Felthouse, Smut by the Sea promises to be a smut-filled extravaganza in the beautiful seaside setting of Victorian Scarborough. The town’s library will be hosting the event.

Forget fish and chips, candy floss and ice cream – visit the dedicated Erotic Marketplace, including exhibitors Xcite Books and House of Erotica, with many more yet to be confirmed. Buy toys and books and all manner of saucy things. And don’t forget to get those books signed by the authors in attendance!

You’ll be wriggling in your seat when you attend a range of sexy readings from erotic authors including Victoria Blisse, Lucy Felthouse, K D Grace and Lexie Bay.

Or perhaps you’d like to attend informative panels on getting published, marketing your work and other smut related activities? It’s all covered, so you can check out whatever tickles your fancy!

It’s certainly going to be a fun-filled day – but it doesn’t stop there! In the evening will be the official launch of the Smut by the Sea anthology (calls for submissions available at, closing date 1st June 2012 – edited by Victoria Blisse and Lucy Felthouse), with readings from the authors, and some seriously saucy swag bags with gifts from sponsors Sh! Women’s Erotic Emporium, Total-E-Bound and Lovehoney, to name but a few.

Just as you’re settling down from hearing all those fabulously naughty stories, your heart rate will be rising once more as the result of an intermission with burlesque dancers!

Finally, there will be a Q&A panel with a range of authors, book signings and some good old fashioned networking and socialising.

It’s still early days so there will be lots more authors, sponsors, exhibitors and attendees coming on board as the conference draws closer, but hopefully this has given you an idea of what to expect from Smut by the Sea.

So, what are you waiting for? Mark your diaries for Smut by the Sea, 22nd June 2013. Early Bird tickets have been released, and there are less than 200 available at this bargain price, so make sure to grab yours quick, before it’s too late!

Keep your eyes on the following links for further information on sponsors, attending authors, exhibitors and more:




Also, just for a bit of fun, you can share your seaside themed photos on the Pinterest page:

The event is still taking on more exhibitors, sponsors, speakers and readers, so if you’d like to get involved, please

About Smut by the Sea

The brainchild of Victoria Blisse and Kevin Mitnik, the Smut by the Sea Erotic Readers & Authors Convention & Erotic Marketplace takes place in Scarborough in June 2013. It will be a smut filled extravaganza with readings, burlesque, panels, Q&As, workshops, erotica and more. See for more details.

About Blisse UK

Blisse UK is the team of Victoria Blisse and Kevin Mitnik. Specialising in bespoke creations, working together they strive to bring originality and excellence into all that they do. Victoria is an award-winning author & Kevin is a twice Webbie winning web designer. They have over 15 years experience of creating successful websites with a portfolio of recent works available on Smut by the Sea is a new venture as they combine their love of the seaside with a love of erotica.


© 2018 K D Grace
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