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Veg Patch Inspiration

2015-06-27 11.36.59Two words…garden porn. Oh yes! ‘Tis the season, and I’m most definitely addicted. Do you have any idea how many luscious, deliciously explicit garden sites there are? Though I like pretty flowers just fine, and though nice, plump red strawberries growing in my garden are enough to get my heart rate up. And cherries! Cherries are in season right now! OMG! What they do to me when they burst in my mouth all juicy and sweet! But what really gets me going, what really makes me quiver all over is vegetables. My, oh my, how I love to look at sites that sell vegetables, or sites that give advice on how to grow vegetables, or sites that show photos of really well put-together veg gardens. Does it get any better than that? OK, so it does get better than that, when my own crop of luscious phallic courgettes and sweet corn and cucumbers come on (oooh, pun intended)!

Oh, and the garden centres! I adore the earthy scent of fresh compost and fertilizer, of greenhouse heat and rank, growing plants, all overlaid with the scent of espresso from the coffee shop. And it’s not just the scent that I love, it’s the feel of a quality wooden handled hoe or a trowel resting in the relaxed, but firm grip of my hand. Did you know that some are designed especially for a lady’s light hand, while others are thick and long and heavy and manly. Oh, and the gloves! There are multi-coloured, oh so soft, gloves to protect my hands while I’m groping and tugging in a weedy bed. Not only do gloves come in all different colours, but the also come in all different textures with grips that are soft and cottony, or rough and rubbery, depending on what you want to grip, of course. The hard, choke-7July growththe-chicken grip used to pull up a fistful of weeds is quite different from the delicate sensitivity and finger action necessary for teasing out buds and pruning delicate foliage. In addition to gloves and tools and the olfactory feast all around, there are metres and meters of gossamer thin garden fleece all ready to caress my plants with that peek-a-boo hint of what lies beneath on a frosty spring night. Of course there’s not much need for that now, but netting – lovely green and black netting, some rigid and stiff, some soft and stretchy.

And the plants! This time of year plants that aren’t just loaded with gaudy blooms already are heavy and swollen with buds about ready to burst, but stiff phallic shoots are coming up everywhere, and the heady scent of new growth is intoxicating. I’m a little behind on my courgettes this year, but I’m anticipating a lovely crop in August and September. My mother always said that sweet corn should be knee high but the 4th of July. Mine was. Right now, it’s almost like I can see it growing if I watch long enough. My mouth waters just thinking about the oral pleasures yet to come!

Personally, I don’t think it’s any surprise at all that I go both ways – erotic writer and vegetable gardener. Gardening and writing erotica — the best of both worlds! And inspiration. Wow! My veg are all well established now. The corn is well up and so are the courgettes. The beans are blooming and setting very tiny beans, and the tomatoes are blossoming too. Next to the harvest of first fruits, I absolutely love that moment when the seedlings first push up through the soft earth with just the tiniest hint of pale plant flesh pressing through the glossy black compost, it’s a 2015-06-27 11.40.19teasing par excellence. My breath catches, my heart races and I’m positively bouncing with excitement.

I’ve written about naughty things to do with carrots and courgettes, and I’ve written about kink amid the topiary. It’s true, getting down and dirty among the growing things makes me hot, and sometimes sore. I finished out the flowerbeds on Sunday, digging and watering and patting in place. There’s still dirt under my nails and my shoulders ache. Then Sunday evening I squatted in the rich earth amid the strawberry patch picking and sniffing the astringent sweet scent — and tasting, of course! Yes, it was good for me.

And here’s a little Garden Porn to inspire you today from my story Allotted Views! 

Allotted ViewsMy story from the Immoral Views anthology.

When the mysterious ‘Woo Woo Man,’ JONATHAN takes on the thin strip of bramble-infested ground in the Blue Bell Street Allotments, veg gardener extraordinaire, ROSE, whose bedroom window overlooks his ‘small holding,’ wonders what idiot would take on such a project. When she ‘accidentally’ sees him chanting a bit of woo-woo and having a midnight wank under a full moon in his newly rotovated plot, she suspects his methods aren’t found in any RHS manual.

As watching his late night garden antics becomes more for voyeuristic pleasure than for sussing out sound horticultural practices, and as Jonathan’s garden grows more exquisite with every wank, Rose begins to wonder if there just might be something to a little sex woo-woo in the garden. But can she learn Jonathan’s secret without him learning hers, or will she be forced to come clean?

 Excerpt:

I appreciate a good garden way more than most, and I completely understand wanting to get onto the patch as early as possible – especially when it’s that time of year, when there’s so much to do and enthusiasm is running high. But it was midnight, for fuck sake! I had work in the morning. This was not neighbourly behaviour.

I was seriously considering giving him a piece of my mind or throwing something at him. But then he took off his shirt. He just slipped it right off over his head like it was something completely normal to do in the allotments in the middle of the night. The light from the streetlamp that shown across the alley behind my house lent just enough to the ambient moonlight that I could see his nipples bead to hard knots in the slight chill.

I like nipples. I like them a lot. I don’t care which sex they belong to, when they tighten and strain beneath a shirt, I get wet. I can’t help it. I can’t keep myself from imagining what’s causing those lovely, tense mini-erections – even if it’s nothing more than too much air conditioning in the frozen food isle at Sainsbury. Nipples are such a lovely reminder that we’re not nearly as in control of our biological functions as we think we are. And when someone is brazen enough to bare their nipples like roseate pebbles turned over in perfectly smooth tilth, well I’m completely in awe. And this man’s points were pink and stiff and yummy above rippled areole that made me want to touch, made me want to tweak and stroke and tongue, made me wish I had my binoculars handy.

It quickly became evident that it wasn’t the late night chill stiffening the man’s nips, at least not entirely. Before my eyes, he stepped out of a pair of ratty Birkenstocks and slid baggy cargo trousers off over his straight hips and the pillowed swell of his bottom. He kicked them carelessly to one side. Apparently the occasion had called for commando,cucumber 17 aug 1mail.google.com and I didn’t have to endure more disrobing before I was treated to the full-on.

He was heavy, but not yet erect, hanging as though the weight of his cock was too much to comfortably bear so precariously stretched between his thighs. It sprawled over the rounded outward press of his balls in their cushion of springy curls that looked nearly transparent in the pale light.

The moon was a burnished disk, peeking through the branches of the lime trees on the far edge of the allotments. He stood with his back to it and his expanding personal geography facing my window. Then he raised his head, and my heart did a guilty flip-flop, certain he’d caught me watching. But he couldn’t possibly see me, I reassured myself as he stood there with eyes lifted, chest rising and falling beneath the twin peaks of those exquisite nipples, rising and falling almost as though he were about to lift his voice in song and serenade me. But serenading wasn’t what he had in mind.

With a scooping motion, he cupped his left hand beneath his balls and lifted and caressed and fingered, causing his burgeoning cock to loll from side to side, flopping heavily and expanding in anticipation until it bounced stiffly over his pouch. I held my breath. My pulse was a frantic flutter against my throat. My eyes stung from not blinking, not wanting to miss anything. Then his right hand took control of his penis with a firm grip, a gardener’s grip — a gardener who knew the proper use of his tools. At the moment of contact a shudder ran up his straight spine, and a tight grunt followed by a throaty sigh escaped his parted, full lips.

First ripe toms 10 Aug 2013IMG00572-20130910-0951It wasn’t until then that I believed the man was actually going to do it. He was actually going to have a wank right there on his well-rotovated allotment. And at that same moment, my own plan of action became equally evident. I was not going to go back to bed and give the man his privacy — privacy he didn’t even know he’d lost, so would obviously not miss. I was going to stay right where I was and watch. I was going to watch until the fat lady sang, and I was going to have a little fiddle of my own. If he could be so brazen to cause such a disturbance just below my window on a work night, then I could be brazen too. I worked hard, damn it! I deserved a little pleasure. One hand had already pinched my nipples to sympathetic peaks beneath my night shirt; and with a slight shifting of my hips and opening of my stance, the other found easy access to the slick pouting response that happened as automatically, under the right stimulation, as the little vixen offering her swollen cunny up to her fox when she was in season. Biology can sometimes be so yummy.

Down below me, the man was whispering some breathless chant over and over again as he tugged at himself. He stopped long enough to spit on his hand and give his cock a good lubing up with his own saliva. Once he was lubed, his chant got slightly louder, something about mother earth and fertile, bountiful gifts. I figured the guy was into some serious voodoo, but who the fuck cared? He could believe the world was spawned into existence by a pregnant turnip as long as he kept doing what he was doing beneath my window.

His eyes were screwed shut and his brow was furrowed in deep concentration. The action had shifted to a lot less hand and a lot more pile driving with his hips. His balls bounced. His ass clenched. The muscles in his thighs bulged. And I held my breath, riding four fingers and rubbing my nub like it was a good luck charm. Maybe it actually was. Just when I was beginning to wonder if my puss was going to explode and launch me into orbit, Voodoo Man came. Extraordinarily, he spurted an arching fountain of semen, first in my direction with a hefty grunt. Then he turned with stiff, almost military precision and, directing his cock like it was a garden hose, spurted his load almost equally in each of the other three directions of the compass, like white con trails in the rising moonlight, extending outward across the Harvest 25 AugIMG00569-20130825-1722dark earth. He dropped to his knees and lifted his arms into the air. He said something in a breathless voice, something about blessing the fruit of his labour, while I stood shuddering against my hand until I was convinced I’d break something. I hoped whatever deity he was petitioning was a very demanding one, one who expected lots more such worshipful displays.

At last, when he’d caught his breath, he stood and dressed. Then he sat quietly on the rock and finished his drink. That done, he peed generously out over his small holding. After all, every good farmer knows the fertilizing value of a little urea. Once he was tucked and tidied, he gave one last glance around and squeezed back through the make-shift gate.

 

Smut for Good Fund Raising Blog Hop Supporting Parkinson’s UK

Coming Together with Curves Charity blog hop

It’s always an honour to participate in a Smutters blog hop, and even more of an honour when its Coming Together with Curves for a good cause, and Parkinson’s Awareness week is a very good cause.

Like most blog hops, there’s a giveaway involved. I’ll give away a free copy of my curvy short novella, Allotted Views to the winner. All you have to do is comment on the post. And if you want to make a difference, you’ll find a just giving link below where you can donate to help find a cure.

Below that, you’ll find a naughty, curvy excerpt for your reading pleasure.

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Smut for Good: Curves Rule is a blog hop with prizes galore to raise funds for Parkinson’s UK as this is Parkinson’s Awareness week. To find more curves, and seek out further prizes please visit http://smutters.co.uk/smut-for-good and if you can take a minute to please visit the Smut for Good: Curves Rule Just Giving Page athttp://www.justgiving.com/curvesrule and donate whatever you can to help us reach our target of £100 to raise awareness of Parkinson’s and to support the charity Parkinson’s UK http://www.parkinsons.org.uk/ who help those with the disease learn to cope with the challenges, give out information and search for a cure.

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Allotted Views Excerpt:

Warning: Adult Content & Veggie Porn!

allottedviewsLater, I was awakened by whispers. My heart went into overdrive with a rush of anticipation. I rose and walked on tiptoe to the window to peek out. Sure enough, there was Woo-Woo Man, but this time he wasn’t alone. The woman he was with, for lack of a more fitting term, was voluptuous. If he was woo-woo, she was woo-woo squared. She wore a dark gown with a tightly fitted bodice from which her very ample breasts mounded like large scoops of vanilla ice cream crowded into a small dish. The dress must have been corseted at the waist because it beautifully accentuated hourglass hips and buttocks that looked like they must be completely luscious for her to sit on or for anyone else to fondle. The long skirt swished with a silken hiss teasing its way between her thighs as she walked. There was a mountain of pale curly hair caught up on top of her head in a generous clipping of crystals and feathers. ‘Oh, it’s lovely, Jonathan.’ Her voice was a honey-comb-dipped contralto that I felt down low between my hipbones.

‘Then you’ll do it, My Lady?’ He took her hands in his, raised them reverently to his lips and kissed her pale knuckles. ‘You’ll bless it with me?’

‘Of course I will, Jonathan, darling, of course I will.’ She stood unmoving while Jonathan slid the white poet shirt he now wore off over his head and fumbled his way out of his cargo trousers. It was the way his cock rested unsubstantially drawn up against his balls that told me the man was nervous. But his spiky nipples told me he’d get over it.

With a melodramatic flutter of her long, heavy sleeves, My Lady lifted her arms into the air, and motioned Jonathan to do likewise. Then her voice got even lower as she earnestly entreated the blessing of the earth for the feeding of her children. That done, she held her arms out to each side, palms delicately cupped, facing upward, and nodded her consent, casting a demure glance down the pale valley between her breasts.

With fingers that were visibly shaking, Jonathan undid the tight cup of the bodice and My Lady’s bosom tumbled free just as she was saying something about all of us suckling at nature’s breasts. With one hand, fingers sparkling in sliver spirals of rings, she pulled him to her, first one tit and then the other. Each time he nursed and caressed and slurped her ripe strawberry nipples, she spoke a few words into the silent midnight air. And each time she gave him suck, his cock stretched and expanded and reached for her until it pressed its way into the dark satin folds of her skirt.

Then she stepped back slightly and offered him her hand. With his cock leading the way, he guided her to stand in the middle of the garden between the beans and the brassicas. There she squatted wide legged, and for a second I thought there would be more urea, but instead of peeing, she took a handful of soil, lifted it into the air in front of her and let it fall between her fingers. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but suddenly she stopped speaking, stood and motioned him to her again.

This time he undid the rest of the dress, and it fell around her ankles like a chrysalis being shed, brushing cabbage leaves and bean poles in its fullness. Then with him holding her hand, she stepped free of the dress standing tall and shimmering and completely naked in the muted touch of the sodium streetlight. She was Rubinesque in the most exquisite way. There were no protruding bones, no sharp edges, just soft pillowed curves that begged to be touched and nuzzled and fondled.

I had a lover once who’d made a fortune working in the city. One year, for my birthday, he took me to a very expensive hotel. I remember languishing on a bed mounded with satin pillows of every shape and size. I remember how after too much expensive fizz, he undressed me slowly and settled me into the middle of them all. I felt them against my cheek, hugging the sides of my breasts, sliding feather-soft over my nipples, shoving in between my legs as he removed my panties and arranged me like I was some kind of jewelry displayed on a bed of velvet. I relished their softness and resilience as he carefully positioned them beneath my hips until I gaped before him at the perfect angle for his explorations, at the perfect angle for his mounting. The contrast of his hard thrusts and pants over me and the lush, forgiving caress of the pillows beneath me was sensory overload that sent me into orgasmic bliss. Sadly the man wasn’t nearly as memorable as that delicious mound of pillows.

My Lady was like that. There was no part of her I wouldn’t have loved to pull to me and bury my face in. Almost unconsciously I found myself leaning forward toward her, nearly out the open window. She walked naked amid the ordered rows of tomatoes and carrots. She fondled the long leaves of the sweet corn, stroking them to her breasts, lifting them to her nose and inhaling their scent. She ran bare toes upward along the feathery greens of the carrots like a ballerina, each movement, each interaction making her more desirable, more exquisite in the shadowy light. And yet, Jonathan didn’t touch her, though his erection told me he wanted to badly enough. He simply followed her around with a proprietary step made comic by the bounce of his cock.

At last she turned to him and he nearly ploughed into her. ‘Jonathan, my darling, I offer myself to you for the blessing of this lovely garden.’

When he hesitated, she chuckled softly and ran a hand invitingly down the expansive curve of her hip. ‘Come now, darling, there’s no need to be shy. Our pleasure is a part of the magic.’ She turned her back to him and bent forward so that the lush pillows of her buttocks faced him, faced my window, and I grabbed at the buttons of my night shirt, clawing it free so that my own small breasts could take in the night breeze, so that my pussy rubbed unhindered against the chair I’d left in front of the window after Jonathan’s first worshipful wank – just in case.

17 aug 6IMG00557-20130817-1332‘Don’t be shy,’ she whispered. ‘Just for tonight, I am the goddess, you are my consort, and the great yoni that birthed all things into existence will be honoured by our offering. My pussy is yours until the magic is completed.’ Perhaps it was her sudden use of nasty language in a situation which up until now had seemed rather formal and reverent in spite of the chavish undertones of sneaking a fuck in the allotments after hours. But more than likely it was just the close proximity of her luscious bare arse cushioning said puss. Propriety gave way to lust. I held my breath, and my cunt trembled and clenched as he reached for her. He kneaded her arse cheeks in hard, probing caresses, which she seemed to like, if the little kitten sounds coming from her throat were any indication. She bent forward a little more and with one sparkling hand cupped a buttock and pulled herself open like ripe fruit ready to be eaten. The tight knot of her anus puckered and relaxed at the gust of his breath, though that’s only speculation on my part, but my own anus clenched in empathy at the nearness of his face to her lovely nether grip.

I expected him to shimmy his thick fingers down over her perineum to part the heavy folds of her labia, only now revealed as she bent still further to offer him a better view. But instead, he buried his face in her crevice, and she gave a tight little yelp of surprise as he began to eat his way along the sumptuous path to her cunny. I barely managed to stifle my own yelp at his face-first plunge, but I liked him so much better for doing exactly what I would have loved to do.

The sound of his oral explorations carried in the night time quiet even over the heavy breathing of all three of us. ‘You taste sweet,’ he said, ‘and you’re so slippery.’

‘Being around growing things arouses me so,’ she replied. ‘When I smell the earth all ripe and ready, when I see new buds bursting and spreading, I get all squirmy and juicy and I want to have sex on the ground under the moon. I want to rut like a wild animal, like our ancestors did, like we were intended.’

The view for me was exquisite as I stroked my own wetness, vaguely aware of the mess I was making on my chair, but not caring. My Lady’s clit was marble hard and nearly as big. I know that because Jonathan told her so, a revelation that made her wriggle her pale bottom back against his mouth and open her legs still further. I was sure my clit could have matched in size and tightness, as I tweaked it between my thumb and forefinger. Though I couldn’t see her cunny, I could see the clench and relax of his pucker, and when he moved just right I got the between-the-thighs view of his weighty balls and distended cock.

‘Fuck me, Jonathan,’ she hissed between her teeth. ‘I need you to fuck me. I need to come.’

And there’s the rub of it, I thought. In the end, it really is all about sex, and I would have gladly fucked either one of them, but I still wasn’t convinced it was the secret to a good veg patch.

Jonathan pulled his face away shining with her juices, and I swear I could smell pussy on the soft night breeze, pussy other than my own. When he pushed his penis up into her, I heard the slurp of her wetness. I figured the whimpers and grunts of need that followed didn’t really have too much to do with serving the goddess, but then what the hell did I know? What the hell did I care as long as we all came? And all three of us were so damn close that a feather of a breath would have sent us toppling over the edge.

Then My Lady gasped and began to keen, ‘oh my goddess, oh my goddess I’m coming! I’m coming!’ And she wasn’t quiet about it either, so in spite of his reverence for the woman, Jonathan shoved the hand that had been kneading great fists full of her swaying breasts against her mouth to silence her. She had just managed containment when he pulled out of her so quickly that she nearly lost her balance, then to her squeals of delight and praises of the goddess, he shot arched streams of semen onto the brassicas and beans, and I practically juddered myself off the chair when my own orgasm hit.

After they’d caught their breath, he helped My Lady back into her dress, all the while she spoke in hushed tones about the goddess’s blessing on Jonathan’s garden, and what a gift he had. I wondered if she was talking about his skills as a gardener or his skills as a lover. Neither seemed to be lacking as far as I could tell. Then, when they were both dressed, just before they left, she turned to him and gave his cock a stroke through his trousers. ‘Keep the ground fertile, Jonathan, keep the ground fertile.’

runner beansI could have kissed her for that had I not been watching uninvited, because the very next night, Jonathan took her at her word. He was back coming on the tomatoes and courgettes, and I came with him, a heavy dildo shoved up the juicy squelch- squelch of my pussy, one that I’d bought that morning at a shop I pass on the way to work. I bought it because I thought was shaped particularly like him. The added appendage was enough to give me several good orgasms while I watched him tug and stroke his own appendage, and even ride a long middle finger knuckle-deep into his anus. Three nights in a row, on the advice of My Lady, he wanked on his veg, and I wanked in sympathy, every night having multiples, every night drenching myself shamelessly, every night pushing my body over the edge into mindless trembling pleasure. My god, it was amazing!

 

Smutter Advent Calendar Yummy Treat

If you’re participating in the daily fun and excitement on the Smutter Advent Calendar, then you know on day 18, that would be today, all you have to do to claim your copy of  my novella, Allotted Views, is pop a comment onto this post along with your email address, before noon on the 19th of December and I’ll send you a PDF of Allotted Views as a very naughty Advent treat.

Blurb for Allotted Views:

(From the Immoral Views Anthology by Sweetmeats Press)

When the mysterious ‘Woo Woo Man,’ JONATHAN takes on the thin strip of bramble-infested ground in the Blue Bell Street Allotments, veg gardener extraordinaire, ROSE, whose bedroom window overlooks his ‘small holding,’ wonders what idiot would take on such a project. When she ‘accidentally’ sees him chanting a bit of woo-woo and having a midnight wank under a full moon in his newly rotovated plot, she suspects his methods aren’t found in any RHS manual.

As watching his late night garden antics becomes more for voyeuristic pleasure than for sussing out sound horticultural practices, and as Jonathan’s garden grows more exquisite with every wank, Rose begins to wonder if there just might be something to a little sex woo-woo in the garden. But can she learn Jonathan’s secret without him learning hers, or will she be forced to come clean?

Excerpt

I appreciate a good garden way more than most, and I completely understand wanting to get onto the patch as early as possible – especially when it’s that time of year, when there’s so much to do and enthusiasm is running high. But it was midnight, for fuck sake! I had work in the morning. This was not neighbourly behaviour.

I was seriously considering giving him a piece of my mind or throwing something at him. But then he took off his shirt. He just slipped it right off over his head like it was something completely normal to do in the allotments in the middle of the night. The light from the streetlamp that shown across the alley behind my house lent just enough to the ambient moonlight that I could see his nipples bead to hard knots in the slight chill.

I like nipples. I like them a lot. I don’t care which sex they belong to, when they tighten and strain beneath a shirt, I get wet. I can’t help it. I can’t keep myself from imagining what’s causing those lovely, tense mini-erections – even if it’s nothing more than too much air conditioning in the frozen food isle at Sainsbury. Nipples are such a lovely reminder that we’re not nearly as in control of our biological functions as we think we are. And when someone is brazen enough to bare their nipples like roseate pebbles turned over in perfectly smooth tilth, well I’m completely in awe. And this man’s points were pink and stiff and yummy above rippled areole that made me want to touch, made me want to tweak and stroke and tongue, made me wish I had my binoculars handy.

It quickly became evident that it wasn’t the late night chill stiffening the man’s nips, at least not entirely. Before my eyes, he stepped out of a pair of ratty Birkenstocks and slid baggy cargo trousers off over his straight hips and the pillowed swell of his bottom. He kicked them carelessly to one side. Apparently the occasion had called for commando, and I didn’t have to endure more disrobing before I was treated to the full-on.

 

A Kiss in the Dark Can Lead to Hot Sex, Magic and Free Goodies!

When I was a kid it was always a contest to see who would have the most goodies in the Trick-or-Treat bag for Halloween. Well Blisse Kiss After Dark will guarantee full goodie bags for anyone who likes their treats on the spicy, extra naughty side. Victoria Blisse and Kevin Mitnik are forever coming up with fabulous ways to share great erotica and help us all celebrate sex. And how could they resist paranormal erotic fun for the season. Halloween is nearly upon us and who wouldn’t want a steamy kiss in the dark and all the goodies that could lead to.

I’m all about goodies and kisses and since I’m launching book two of my paranormal erotic Lakeland Heatwave trilogy, Riding the Ether, I’m celebrating by giving away free downloads of the first novel, Body Temperature and Rising, on Amazon and in iTunes. Hot ghosts and witches, demons and sex magic all yours for the downloading. That’s a great start for filling anyone’s goodie bag with nasty steamy paranormal fun.

And since we’re talking magic and paranormal fun, I’m going to add that extra bit of yumminess by giving away an eBook copy of my magical, voyeuristic romp in the veg patch, Allotted Views. Comment for a chance to win.

Here’s a hot kiss in a dark cave excerpt from Body Temperature and Rising to start my naughty Kiss in the Dark celebration. Don’t forget, this full-length novel is now free to download on Amazon Kindle and iTunes. Links are below.  All my way of celebrating the launch of book two, Riding the Ether, now available on Kindle and soon to be in print. Enjoy! Happy Halloween and Blessed Samhain!

Blurb for Body Temperature and Rising:

American transplant to the Lake District, MARIE WARREN, didn’t know she could unleash demons and enflesh ghosts until a voyeuristic encounter on the fells ends in sex with the charming ghost, ANDERSON, and night visits from a demon. To help her cope with her embarrassing and dangerous new abilities, Anderson brings her to the ELEMENTALS, a coven of witches who practice rare sex magic that temporarily allows needy ghosts access to the pleasures of the flesh.

DEACON, the demon Marie has unleashed, holds an ancient grudge against TARA STONE, coven high priestess, and will stop at nothing to destroy all she holds dear. Marie and her landlord, the reluctant young farmer, TIM MERIWETHER, are at the top of his list. Marie and Tim must learn to wield coven magic and the numinous power of their lust to stop Deacon’s bloody rampage before the coven is torn apart and more innocent people die.

Excerpt:

‘I lost my compass,’ she said.

‘I’m very sorry to hear that,’ he replied.

Almost before she knew it they were descending. ‘Not to worry,’ he spoke close to Marie’s ear. ‘I am as familiar with these fells as I am my own face. Once we are safely down to Grange, Tara will be waiting for us.’

He made no attempt to explain who Tara was, nor did he introduce himself. That was her first clue that he might have been aware of her voyeuristic escapade.

‘We shall be down very quickly,’ he added, turning his face into the storm.

But they weren’t.

The weather worsened to a downpour. Bent double in the wind, Marie was soaked to the skin and shivering by the time Anderson pulled her into a cave that she hadn’t even seen until they were safe inside. He took her just deep enough to be out of the weather, but not beyond the reach of daylight.

‘We shall wait out the storm here.’ He offered her a smile and gestured around the cave, which she could now see was a disused quarry. ‘There are lots of caves and quarries around the Lake District,’ He said. ‘Some are fenced off for the protection of curious tourists, and others, such as this one are unknown to but a few.’

‘And your girl friend, won’t she be worried?’

The tolerant smile he offered made her aware of her mistake. ‘Tara knows what I would do in such weather.’ Then he added, ‘Though she is very dear to me, Tara is not my girlfriend.’

Before she could say anything he chuckled softly. ‘I know that you saw us together, and there’s no need to apologize. Neither of us was upset that you enjoyed our love making. In fact we rather hoped it would please you. Besides one must certainly expect such encounters when one chooses the middle of a well-travelled path for a rendezvous. Now remove your shirt for me, please.’

When she balked, he added. ‘You’re cold and wet. I only wish to make you more comfortable and prevent you catching your death.’ He had already shed his jacket and handed it to her. She was astonished to find it completely dry. ‘You may wear this.’

When she made no effort to put it on, he sighed and scooted closer to her. ‘Please, we must get you dry and warm.’ He unzipped her anorak and pushed it off her shoulders, then tugged the hem of her shirt out of her trousers. His hands were unbelievably warm grazing her bare skin. She lifted her arms, and he slid the wet shirt off over her head, then he reached behind her to unhook her bra while his other hand deftly dispatched with the buttons of his black shirt. ‘Now please, put this on.’ He slid the jacket around her shoulders like a blanket, shoved his shirt open and pulled her against him.

She wasn’t sure why, but it seemed such a natural thing to slide her arms around him, beneath his shirt, which was as dry as the jacket. As she settled in close, his chest expanded against her bare breasts, and his breath hitched.

‘You are freezing. I think you very much need my body heat.’

‘And you seem to have lots of it to offer,’ she spoke between chattering teeth, suddenly very aware of the gouge of her tightly puckered nipples against his warm chest.

He laughed softly, and she felt the deep low rumble of it clear through her centre. ‘My dear, you’re welcome to as much heat as I’m able to generate.’

The urge was overpowering. She rose on her haunches and kissed him. Out of the clear blue, she just lifted her mouth to his as though it were hers to take, as though she owned it. And he responded in complete acceptance to her possession, warm lips yielding, encouraging, inviting, making room for the flick of her tongue, welcoming her with the flick of his own.

‘You taste of her,’ she whispered when she came up for breath.

He cupped her face in a large hand and ran a callused thumb over her bottom lip. ‘But her taste pleases you, does it not?’

She nodded. ‘I can see why it pleased you so much.’ She was suddenly, painfully aware of her brazenness. What the hell was the matter with her behaving this way with a man who was, for all practical purposes, a total stranger?

She was about to apologize when he pulled her hand to his lips and suckled her fingers, the ones that had been in her panties not all that long ago. He held her in a gaze deeper than the quarry that now protected them. ‘Your taste also pleases me. Even more so than I imagined.

The thought made her snatch tense with delight. ‘You imagined my taste?’

‘Of course I did, but experiencing the aftertaste of someone’s pleasure, though nice, is never as enjoyable as tasting for oneself.’

She had no time to do more than squirm at the heat of his comment before he pulled away to remove her boots and wet socks, lingering to chafe her cold feet between his hands, then he opened her trousers with amazing ease. She lifted her ass as he slid them off, along with her panties, then he settled her onto his lap. ‘Your bottom will not appreciate alighting upon a cold slab of slate,’ he said. He guided her to wrap her legs around his waist and arranged the tale of his shirt to cover them. Then he shifted to better balance himself and offered a soft sigh as his hands slid to her hips.

A quiver of a gasp escaped her throat as she found herself sitting spread and gaping against the erection his trousers clothed, but certainly couldn’t hide. The flash-fire burn below her belly flared again then hummed low and warm as though someone had adjusted the flame. At the sudden shock of it, she buried her face in his shoulder and clenched her teeth to keep from crying out with the startling friction of it

‘I believe my trousers will bear the imprint of your lovely womanhood when the weather clears and we leave this place. Do you mark me as your territory? I am honoured.’

His insinuation made her pussy even slicker, and she was sure he was right. She was making a sticky mess of the front of his trousers. She rubbed herself against him taking in the size of him beneath the soft black fabric, and he grunted hard and shuddered at her efforts. ‘Maybe you should take them off, save embarrassing stains and allow me a little more of that body heat you’re so generous with.’

He offered her a wicked smile. “My dear, my delicate bare bottom is no more fond of sitting on cold slate than yours is, but perhaps we can find an acceptable compromise.’ He ran a hand between them, jostling her slightly in his efforts to open his fly, releasing his cock and heavy balls. The whimper that escaped her lips was involuntary as she pressed upward to renegotiate for space.

He held her gaze. ‘Are you sure this is what you want?

‘Don’t you?’ She raked herself against him once more, and he shuddered

‘I do. Very much.’

She was relieved. She had never been more sure of anything in her life. She didn’t know why that should be. Perhaps it had something to do with the burning ache at her centre that had awakened again and crawled over her sex, up the vertebrates of her spine like an eruption of rising sparks. She scrambled to reposition, her bare feet pressing onto the chilled slate until he lifted her bottom. She tugged at the length of him shifting her hips as his thumb brushed open her pussy lips. ‘Oh my dear, you are very ready, indeed,’ he breathed. ‘Such soft luscious wetness.’

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Celebrating Summer Sex Al Fresco

In honour of the summer we almost had here in Britain, I’m going to dedicate my next few blog entries to filthy fun al fresco, K D style. Most of you know me well enough to know the kind of things I like to do in the heat of the summer, and the kind of things that inspire me to write all manner of naughtiness.

Likewise, most of you who know me will recall that my husband and I just got an allotment this year after three long years on the waiting list. Now that the hard work is beginning to pay off and we’re indulging ourselves with runner beans and sweet corn and courgettes and cauliflowers, I thought a little garden porn might be the perfect way to kick off this little celebration of outdoor smut. And why not go straight to the spot, with a little allotment garden porn, from my Sweetmeat Press story, Allotted Views. Who knows, after reading this, you might find you want to put your name on the waiting list for an allotment. Enjoy!

Allotted Views Blurb

When the mysterious ‘Woo Woo Man,’ JONATHAN takes on the thin strip of bramble-infested ground in the Blue Bell Street Allotments, veg gardener extraordinaire, ROSE, whose bedroom window overlooks his ‘small holding,’ wonders what idiot would take on such a project. When she ‘accidentally’ sees him chanting a bit of woo-woo and having a midnight wank under a full moon in his newly rotovated plot, she suspects his methods aren’t found in any RHS manual.

As watching his late night garden antics becomes more for voyeuristic pleasure than for sussing out sound horticultural practices, and as Jonathan’s garden grows more exquisite with every wank, Rose begins to wonder if there just might be something to a little sex woo-woo in the garden. But can she learn Jonathan’s secret without him learning hers, or will she be forced to come clean?

Allotted Views Excerpt

That night I went to bed wondering if I should maybe take up wanking in my own garden. I’m always happy to try the latest horticultural techniques, and often with surprising results, but I must have been really tired to even consider the masturbation method as a valid way of upping garden productivity.

Later, I was awakened by whispers. My heart went into overdrive with a rush of anticipation. I rose and walked on tiptoe to the window to peek out. Sure enough, there was Woo-Woo Man, but this time he wasn’t alone. The woman he was with, for lack of a more fitting term, was voluptuous. If he was woo-woo, she was woo-woo squared. She wore a dark gown with a tightly fitted bodice from which her very ample breasts mounded like large scoops of vanilla ice cream crowded into a small dish. The dress must have been corseted at the waist because it beautifully accentuated hourglass hips and buttocks that looked like they must be completely luscious for her to sit on or for anyone else to fondle. The long skirt swished with a silken hiss teasing its way between her thighs as she walked. There was a mountain of pale curly hair caught up on top of her head in a generous clipping of crystals and feathers. ‘Oh, it’s lovely, Jonathan.’ Her voice was a honey-comb-dipped contralto that I felt down low between my hipbones.

‘Then you’ll do it, My Lady?’ He took her hands in his, raised them reverently to his lips and kissed her pale knuckles. ‘You’ll bless it with me?’

‘Of course I will, Jonathan, darling, of course I will.’ She stood unmoving while Jonathan slid the white poet shirt he now wore off over his head and fumbled his way out of his cargo trousers. It was the way his cock rested unsubstantially drawn up against his balls that told me the man was nervous. But his spiky nipples told me he’d get over it.

With a melodramatic flutter of her long, heavy sleeves, My Lady lifted her arms into the air, and motioned Jonathan to do likewise. Then her voice got even lower as she earnestly entreated the blessing of the earth for the feeding of her children. That done, she held her arms out to each side, palms delicately cupped, facing upward, and nodded her consent, casting a demure glance down the pale valley between her breasts.

With fingers that were visibly shaking, Jonathan undid the tight cup of the bodice and My Lady’s bosom tumbled free just as she was saying something about all of us suckling at nature’s breasts. With one hand, fingers sparkling in sliver spirals of rings, she pulled him to her, first one tit and then the other. Each time he nursed and caressed and slurped her ripe strawberry nipples, she spoke a few words into the silent midnight air. And each time she gave him suck, his cock stretched and expanded and reached for her until it pressed its way into the dark satin folds of her skirt.

Then she stepped back slightly and offered him her hand. With his cock leading the way, he guided her to stand in the middle of the garden between the beans and the brassicas. There she squatted wide legged, and for a second I thought there would be more urea, but instead of peeing, she took a handful of soil, lifted it into the air in front of her and let it fall between her fingers. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but suddenly she stopped speaking, stood and motioned him to her again.

This time he undid the rest of the dress, and it fell around her ankles like a chrysalis being shed, brushing cabbage leaves and bean poles in its fullness. Then with him holding her hand, she stepped free of the dress standing tall and shimmering and completely naked in the muted touch of the sodium streetlight. She was Rubinesque in the most exquisite way. There were no protruding bones, no sharp edges, just soft pillowed curves that begged to be touched and nuzzled and fondled.

I had a lover once who’d made a fortune working in the city. One year, for my birthday, he took me to a very expensive hotel. I remember languishing on a bed mounded with satin pillows of every shape and size. I remember how after too much expensive fizz, he undressed me slowly and settled me into the middle of them all. I felt them against my cheek, hugging the sides of my breasts, sliding feather-soft over my nipples, shoving in between my legs as he removed my panties and arranged me like I was some kind of jewelry displayed on a bed of velvet. I relished their softness and resilience as he carefully positioned them beneath my hips until I gaped before him at the perfect angle for his explorations, at the perfect angle for his mounting. The contrast of his hard thrusts and pants over me and the lush, forgiving caress of the pillows beneath me was sensory overload that sent me into orgasmic bliss. Sadly the man wasn’t nearly as memorable as that delicious mound of pillows.

My Lady was like that. There was no part of her I wouldn’t have loved to pull to me and bury my face in. Almost unconsciously I found myself leaning forward toward her, nearly out the open window. She walked naked amid the ordered rows of tomatoes and carrots. She fondled the long leaves of the sweet corn, stroking them to her breasts, lifting them to her nose and inhaling their scent. She ran bare toes upward along the feathery greens of the carrots like a ballerina, each movement, each interaction making her more desirable, more exquisite in the shadowy light. And yet, Jonathan didn’t touch her, though his erection told me he wanted to badly enough. He simply followed her around with a proprietary step made comic by the bounce of his cock.

At last she turned to him and he nearly ploughed into her. ‘Jonathan, my darling, I offer myself to you for the blessing of this lovely garden.’

When he hesitated, she chuckled softly and ran a hand invitingly down the expansive curve of her hip. ‘Come now, darling, there’s no need to be shy. Our pleasure is a part of the magic.’ She turned her back to him and bent forward so that the lush pillows of her buttocks faced him, faced my window, and I grabbed at the buttons of my night shirt, clawing it free so that my own small breasts could take in the night breeze, so that my pussy rubbed unhindered against the chair I’d left in front of the window after Jonathan’s first worshipful wank – just in case.

‘Don’t be shy,’ she whispered. ‘Just for tonight, I am the goddess, you are my consort, and the great yoni that birthed all things into existence will be honoured by our offering. My pussy is yours until the magic is completed.’ Perhaps it was her sudden use of nasty language in a situation which up until now had seemed rather formal and reverent in spite of the chavish undertones of sneaking a fuck in the allotments after hours. But more than likely it was just the close proximity of her luscious bare arse cushioning said puss. Propriety gave way to lust. I held my breath, and my cunt trembled and clenched as he reached for her.

Allotted Views can be purchased as a stand-alone novella or in the illustrated Immoral Views anthology.

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