Category Archives: Guest Blogger

Rebecca Bond Shares the Story Behind Painted Pussycat

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For the past couple of weeks I’ve been featuring a different one of the fabulous writers from the stunning Sweetmeats Press anthology, Immoral Views, and this week’s very talented author is the yummy Rebecca Bond, whose sexy story, Painted Pussycat has a lot more than just ink on the page. Welcome, Rebecca!

Mr Black of Sweetmeats fame is a fascinating chap, full of mystery and intrigue, and when I was first introduced to him by a fellow author I didn’t know what to think as he politely introduced himself before asking me to contribute to a new anthology he was producing. I’m still very new to this game so obviously I blushed from ear to ear and accepted his offer (if I remember rightly, I purchasing a rather nifty little Sh! bullet at that very moment – probably the main cause of my blushes).

So, the theme was set. Voyeurism. Oooooo, tough one for this little miss. I had an idea that had been rattling around my brain for a while, a story based solely on one woman’s love for tattoos, and so this theme finally allowed the idea to jump from my head and out onto the page. I was also thinking of the challenge for the artist who had been drafted in to illustrate Immoral Views; how on earth would he interpret my tattoo-laced words into imagery? *cue sadistic laugh*

The art of inking is something I’ve long been fascinated with. I had my first tattoo when I was only eighteen. Yes, I was a bit tipsy (Dutch courage for the pain, but also not recommended for going under the needle as it increases the bleed!) and if I remember rightly I was skiving off college for the occasion, but from the very moment I was pushed into the artist’s chair, I felt a strange sense of peace. As the needle began to pierce the skin of my back I felt the tension and stress seep from my body and that for me was enough.

What better feeling than one ultimate stress reliever coupled with another – inking and sex! I’m a fan of both so it’s an utter no-brainer – mash them up and what do you get? Well, my friends, you get Painted Pussycat; the story of one young woman’s journey through inking, from the very first prick of the needle, to the full bodied back piece applied whilst suspended on high upon a St Andrews cross on the stage in the concealed theatre in the back of Ink Majestic. May I introduce you to the young Poppy, the innocent Rexxie Belle…?

Excerpt:

“I’ve seen the way you look at them, Poppy,” she said, her voice husky. “I’ve seen the way you look at me too.”

I looked up at her, dazed and confused, not understanding what she meant. She took my hand and led me through the salon and to a curtained doorway at the rear of the shop. I followed warily, but eager to please. We walked down a long corridor to another room. Her office.

Glancing around, I absorbed the decor – the plush furniture, soft and velvet, the bright coloured cushions that dappled the chairs, the art on the walls, abstract designs and intriguing photography hung in ornate frames. Her desk was in the centre. Dark mahogany. Smooth. Shiny.

“Why do you come here?”

I met her gaze.

“I don’t know.”

She smirked at me and came closer, circling my body like a panther stalking its prey.

“Yes you do. Admit it, Poppy, you come here because it makes you feel good.”

I nodded, what else could I do? She was right after all, I did go there because it made me feel good. It made me feel so fuckin’ good, so fuckin’ alive, so fuckin’. . .horny. She went to her desk, opening a drawer and taking out a tattoo gun. I watched, mouth agape, as she lined up the equipment. She plugged in the gun and looked up at me, a smirk on her face and a wicked gleam in her eye.

“Sit,” she said again, tapping the top of the desk with her left hand.

Gripped by fear, I shook my head. No way was I going to let Carrie loose on my skin with that needle. I didn’t even want a tattoo. Or did I? I eyed her cautiously, but soon gave in and jumped onto the desk. She pushed me gently onto my back, her fingers toying with the hem of my plain white tee before pulling it up to expose my torso.

“It’s okay, Poppy. It’s just a little tattoo, nothing to worry about.” She was delighting in this, in the power the ink had over me.

My skin prickled as she brushed her fingertips over me, goose-bumps dappling my flesh.

“Just relax.”

I closed my eyes as the sound of the gun filled the room, the buzz hitting my senses with startling intensity. My loins sizzled in anticipation of the first prick of the needle. Nervous excitement coursed through my veins and as Carrie prepped my exposed flesh I felt myself falling under her spell.

“You ready?” She asked as I stared up at her through hooded lids.

“Yes.”

God, it was amazing! As soon as the needle of the gun pierced my flesh I was under, hypnotised by the way it scratched my skin. I didn’t know what she was drawing onto me and I didn’t care. All I cared about in that moment was the throbbing between my thighs. It felt so good and as Carrie lifted the gun from my skin and announced that she was finished, I was begging for more.

“Oh no, pussycat, not yet,” she purred against my ear.

Putting the gun down, she pulled off her gloves and reached for the button of my jeans. She popped it open and tugged the black denim over my hips and down my legs. I looked at her, a smile on my face. I felt lazy and languid, letting her petite hand cup my mound and her warmth seep through the fabric of my panties. Another revelation. I clearly wasn’t averse to same sex relations.

It felt so right, the way she stroked my pussy through my panties, teasing me with gentle slaps to my cunt. I was mewing for her, bucking my hips up towards her hand, begging for more of her tantalising touch.

“You’re so wet, pussycat,” she said. “This is from the ink. The tattoo is a powerful thing and should never, ever be taken lightly.”

I looked at her and nodded, “it’s beautiful. I want more.”

Her hand was gone in an instant. As were my panties. She pushed my ankles until my feet were flat on the desk and my legs were parted wide. God! It felt so good the first time she touched me like that, her tongue snaking out from between parted lips and licking the length of my slit.

I cried out in unexpected pleasure as she lapped at my cunt, like the cat that had finally got the cream. Her cute, red lips latched onto my clit and lavished the swollen bead with attention. It was better than anything I had experienced. Whether it was due to the adrenaline racing through my veins from the tattoo or because I was finally being touched by another I do not know, but the orgasm that raged through my body was far superior to anything I had ever experienced at the hands of myself.

I glanced down and met her eyes, watching as she continued to feast on my sex, writhing as she nipped and nibbled her way along one plump pussy lip and then the other. She slid a finger inside my warmth and I came again, climaxing as I had never done before.

Carrie stood, smiling as she gazed down at me.

“Here,” she said, “take my hand.”

I grabbed her hand and let her pull me from the desk. I followed her over to the full length mirror that stood in the corner of her office. She touched my skin where the tattoo now existed and whispered in my ear, “beautiful, pussycat.”

“Pussycat?” I asked as she said what appeared to be my new nickname again.

Her nails grazed across my hip and my pulse raced.

“Yes, a perfect nickname for the new pet of Ink Majestic, don’t you think?”

“I. . .er. . .I don’t understand.”

“Poppy, darling, I saw the potential in you as soon as you walked through our door. The way you watched your friend get her tattoo, I recognised it instantly.”

I still didn’t understand. “Recognised what?”

Carrie giggled and kissed my neck lightly, “that you are the one we’ve been waiting for. You, darling Poppy, are The Art Project.”

I gulped. I had no idea what she was talking about, but the name alone terrified me. Her hand smoothed its way down my torso and back to my pussy, cupping me before slipping a finger through my folds.

“You’re so wet. Yes, I think you will fit in at The House just fine.”

 

Buy Links:

Painted Pussycat for Kindle

Immoral Views for Kindle or Print

About Rebecca Bond
Bewitched by the vibrancy of city life, Rebecca Bond currently resides in London with her fiancé, The Boy. Originally from the sleepy English fenlands, she uses a combination of urban and rural inspiration to carve stories steeped in fantasy. Often found spinning her biro of an eve, Rebecca transforms the day’s grind into scribblings of mystique.
Only a year into ‘public’ writing, Rebecca’s debut publications appear in the anthologies, Uniform Behaviour, Seducing the Myth (ed. Lucy Felthouse) and Immoral Views (Sweetmeats Press). She also has short stories in a variety of erotic sub-genres published by Ravenous Romance, Noble Romance, Oysters and Chocolate, The Erotic Woman, Erotica for All and Every Night Erotica.
Further information about Rebecca’s latest releases can be found at www.missrebeccabond.co.uk
Find Rebecca at:
http://www.missrebeccabond.co.uk/
https://twitter.com/Rebecca_Bond
http://www.facebook.com/MissRebeccaBond

Lexie Bay Shares the Story Behind Inside Looking Out

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It’s my pleasure to welcome a quietly rising star in the world of erotica, the fabulous and sexy, Lexie Bay. I have the pleasure of being in between the covers of Sweetmeats Press’s hot voyeuristic anthology, Immoral Views with Lexie, and she’s agreed to stop by and tell us the story behind her sizzling story, Inside Looking Out. Welcome, Lexie!

When Kojo asked me to write a story with a voyeuristic theme I already had a short story that I’d been thinking about expanding on and that’s how Inside Looking Out was born. I love the thought that a chance encounter, a bizarre set of circumstances could somehow colour all of your future sexual experiences.

My main character Izzy catches her sister’s boyfriend in a compromising position and the experience never leaves her. She finds herself chasing the buzz that she felt watching him through all of her sexual encounters and this meant I could put her into all kinds of voyeuristic situations and explore how each one pushed her closer to finding out what she really wanted.

For a long time I’ve been fascinated by the concept of organised sex parties and orgies so I based the main part of the story inside one. Izzy arrives there hoping to find some answers and to push her boundaries even further and the story keeps coming back to her experience there.

I based my characters on people I either know or knew previously. The character of Liam is an amalgamation of people that I used to know. The kind of guys who are obsessed with their car and their sports clothes; with who has the noisiest exhaust or the biggest wheels. Liam is mainly interested in having a cute girl on his arm and getting a lot of sex and he’s happy to do whatever Izzy wants to keep her interested. The place that he takes her was a place that everyone talked about when we were younger. There were always cars parked there late at night and we were fascinated by it.

Chris and Dan are based on a couple of guys I know who are mates. I thought it would be hot to make them mates with benefits so I popped them into a threesome with Izzy and had a lot of fun with them! I know that one of them has read the story and he didn’t seem too upset so I guess it must have worked OK.

I wanted to take Izzy on a journey of discovery and give her the happy ending she deserved but she has a lot of fun along the way before she realises what she was looking for!

Excerpt

“Come Isabella”, he smiled, “I have some people I know you will love to meet.” She followed him over to where there were several booths centred around large circular beds. On each bed couples and groups were playing while others watched. There was champagne on ice and her host handed her a chilled flute. She sipped it gratefully, letting the ice cold liquid slip down her throat, feeling the bubbles on her tongue as she looked around the room. Her hand flew to her heart as she thought she saw Caleb watching her from the corner of the bar. Izzy looked again, unable to breathe. Was it him? It couldn’t be but he was so similar it made her shiver. She sighed. Even the thought of him still had the power to make her feel like her insides had melted. He had coloured every sexual experience she’d had from that first time she’d watched him. It had become a pattern between them that year. Every party she hid in her car and every party he came to her. He was always with a different girl but it ended the same way. A glance, a wink and he was gone.

It hadn’t ended until Katy had caught him red handed at her birthday party. It had been a terrible row and Caleb had never returned to the house. Shortly after that Izzy had left for England, her father proudly sending her off to Oxford University to study English, his dreams of his daughter becoming a successful journalist still intact.

As Victor introduced her to the people at the table Izzy let her thoughts drift to the first boyfriend she’d had in England, the delectably and filthy Liam. Her sexy “bit of rough” as the Brits would say. All she’d cared about was that he reminded her of Caleb.

Buy Links:

Immoral Views Links:  

Amazon UK (paperback)
Smashwords

Inside Looking Out links:

Smashwords
Waterstone’s

About Lexie Bay

Lexie started writing to immerse herself in a fantasy world where women are adored and men fall at their feet.  Then she realised that sometimes men do that so you can stomp all over them in your sexy stiletto boots and since then she’s been creating stories that stay true to her original romantic dream while exploring the erotic, the kinky and the downright filthy.  She finally found the courage to unleash them onto the world and now writes about anything that emerges from the murky depths of her imagination, whenever she gets the opportunity.

Lexie lives with her husband and two daughters in a house by the sea on the south coast of England, and spends her days working as an accounts manager.  She loves chocolate, theme parks, BBQs on the beach and cosy winter Sundays and her dream is to write full time.

You can find her stories in Uniform Behaviour and Seducing The Myth edited by Lucy Felthouse as well as in Immoral Views published by Kojo Black at Sweetmeats Press

Find Lexie at:

http://www.lexiebay.co.uk

http://www.twitter.com/Lexie_Bay

http://www.facebook.com/LexieBayAuthor

 

 

Kay Jaybee Gives Us a Sexy Peek into The Circus

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My guest today is the BDSM Queen herself, Kay Jaybee, here to talk to us about her nasty story, ‘The Circus,’ from Sweetmeats Press’s yummy anthology, Immoral Views. Welcome Kay. Tell us more!

For as long as I can remember, I have always hated the circus. To me there is something terribly unnerving about it. All those false smiles and fake tans. From childhood, I recall the air within the Big Top arena as stifled and tense- as if one was always waiting for something bad to happen as you sat on little fold down wooden seats, the putrid smell of stale popcorn and candy floss hanging in the air.

For me, I guess the word ‘sinister’ sums things up when it comes to the circus- especially the clowns (I still have nightmares about clowns, and as yet cannot bring myself to write about them- maybe one day).

Given this dislike, it might surprise you that I have written a story called The Circus- until you realise that this is a tale about power and control. About the enjoyment of watching how power can be used, abused, and ultimately enjoyed, by those with particular voyeuristic, restraint, and punishment fantasies…

I mentioned how much I dislike clowns- yet they are not the ones who should be most feared within the circus environment- that role belongs to the Ringmaster. I have always thought there was mileage in a story about a Ringmaster. After all he (or she) is the ultimate power within the Big Top. What the Ringmaster dictates is the law- and must be obeyed.

So what would happen, I began to muse (after Kojo Black of Sweetmeats Press first asked me to write him a hard hitting voyeurism story for his latest anthology, Immoral Views), if there was a very special type of circus. A circus where those with sufficient funds could pay to enjoy their BDSM peccadilloes- where most of the audience could get their voyeuristic kicks- and a few could experience the touch of the Ringmasters whip, and the acrobatics of his assistants for real…

The line is blurred between spectator and performer in a theatre of pleasure and pain. Can Carrie survive the trails that await her on the circus’s stage at the hands of the Ringmaster and his two acrobatic assistants? Either way it is going to the road to erotic success is going to smart a bit…

Carrie really hasn’t had time to think about where she is, or why she has allowed herself to attend the derelict theatre where the Circus is held, before the action begins.  As she sits nervously in the audience, she has only just got her mind around the fact that her boyfriend, Scott, not only knows about The Circus, but has sent her there alone; when the Ringmaster declares that her ticket number has been pulled from the lottery which decides who will be the subject of the evenings show…

Cracking his whip against the end of the bed, the Ringmaster bought the room to order.

“Everyone in this room knows the type of punishing entertainment we issue here.  Everyone is here by choice.  There is, however, a safety word.  If our guests utter the word ‘Circus’, they will be removed from the room with no questions asked.  Otherwise, those chosen to take part in tonight’s performance are here to be used for our enjoyment, and maybe, if they’re lucky, their own.

“Before the show can truly begin however, we need to find our prime players.  One man and one woman will be selected from amongst you, using the numbers on your ticket stubs.”

A mass of shuffling hands retrieved tickets from pockets and cleavages, as every member of the audience reread the numbers they had memorised anyway.

“First we will allocate the female guest star.  Ladies, brace yourselves….”

The compère paused, adopting the annoying style of a television quiz show host about to announce the winner of some second rate talent show.

“Number 23!”

Echoes of relief and disappointed ricocheted around the room, but no one moved.  No one approached the stage.

“Come on, don’t be shy.”

Still no one moved, and Carrie shifted uncomfortably in her seat, wishing that whoever had been picked would hurry up.  She knew it wasn’t her.  She was safe with her number 24 ticket tucked in the top of her right boot.  With a sense of relief she relaxed her shoulder muscles a little.

A hasty consultation began between the Ringmaster and his assistants, who nodded their agreement to whatever he was suggesting.

“It seems that the holder of ticket 23 has failed to show up this evening.  Therefore I will ask the next consecutive ticket holder to join me on the stage.  Number 24, please step this way!”

Carrie thought she was going to be sick.  Her stomach felt like a tumble dryer on full spin.  She hadn’t escaped.  She was going to be on the stage.  She was the subject of the evening. 

“Number 24, don’t be coy, up you come!”  The Ringmaster was stepping towards her, reaching out his long slim arm to hoist Carrie up onto the stage.

Before she could consider how he knew she was number 24, Carrie found herself levered up via the backside, arms, and palms of her neighbours until she was standing next to the Ringmaster.

“A beautiful specimen, I’m sure you’ll agree, Ladies and Gentlemen…” the compère went on, shouting above the approving comments of the crowd, “…in a truly gorgeous outfit.”

The very end of his whip began to trail across the top of Carrie’s breasts, making her shiver further.

“However, I think a change of attire would make things even more interesting..

*****

 Anyone familiar with my work will know that I enjoy writing S&M stories with plenty of ouch and sting, along with doses of tenderness and soft kisses- but tenderness at The Circus has to be earned!

Why not have a read of The Circus to find out if Carrie can please the seated voyeurs enough to win the right to her own satisfaction, as well as that of the male volunteer who has been chosen to appear alongside her on stage…Enjoy! xx

Bio

Kay Jaybee is the author of the erotic e-novella Not Her Type: Erotic Adventures With A Delivery Driver (OC Press, 2011) The Perfect Submissive (Xcite 2011), and the e-anthologies Yes Ma’am (Xcite, 2011), Quick Kink One and Quick Kink Two (Xcite e-books, 2010). She also wrote the sexy anthology The Collector (Austin & Macauley, 2008), which features the adventures of a writer, forever in the pursuit of tales of sexual adventure.

As well as being a regular contributor to www.OystersandChocolate.com , Kay has a number of stories published by Cleis Press (Best of the Best Women’s Erotica 2; Lips Like Sugar; Lust; Best Women’s Erotica 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2012; Best Bondage Erotica 2012, Best Lesbian Romance, 2009, Sweet Love, Smooth, Gotta Have It, Sweet Confessions), Black Lace (Sex and Music, Sexy Little Numbers), Xcite Books (Ultimate Sin, Seriously Sexy Stocking Filler, Boy Fun, Sex at Work, Threesomes. Best of Both, Power Play), Xcite e-books (Cocktales: All Night Long, Kingmaker, Three For All, Flogging the Scarlet), Mammoth Books (The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotica), Penguin (Oysters and Chocolate; Erotic Stories of Every Flavor), Seal (Oysters and Chocolate; Nice Girls; Naughty Sex) Sweetmeats Press (Immoral Views) and Forum and Foreplay Magazines.

 

Kris Andersson Talks Techno-Passion

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I think we should always thank Hollywood legend Hedy Lamarr, not only for being one of the great beauties of the 20th century but also for being the unlikely genius who came up with the idea that led to the invention of the mobile phone.

For without that communications breakthrough, Acts of Passion, one of my personal favourite stories, could never have developed.

It’s only thanks to the idea of texting – and sexting – that the steamy saga of a young actor’s pursuit of a middle aged man took hold and grew.

In an age of letter writing and even the traditional telephone, the single act that launches the story could never have taken place and the subsequent steamy saga of lust and deception would have been lost.

Here’s just a taste of what makes 21st century mobile technology so important to Acts of Passion:

…It was around a fortnight later when I was at dinner with friends, that the phone vibrated and that strange message came up on screen: “You look good with a pint and your eyes say a lot.”

If I’d ignored it, I might have saved myself the trouble of what was to come but instead I texted back: “Thanks for that. It was a pleasure meeting you too.”

That really should have been the end of it. I had made no particular response to the implied come on; there was no suggestion that I was being anything more than polite with a relative stranger.

But a fortnight later I was awoken at around 1am by the sound of the phone vibrating – another text: “I have a hard-on and don’t know what to do.”

I was sleepy and at first confused but then I decided he was joking and sent back what I thought was a similarly lighthearted message: “Why don’t you have a wank?”

“I don’t know how. Will you tell me what to do?”

“You just grab your cock and rub.”

The phone was silent for a few minutes before it vibrated again and the next message came through: “There’s a bit of liquid dribbling out of my bell end. Is this normal?”

I should have stopped right there but I was excited enough by the game to reply: “It’s called pre-cum. Keep rubbing up and down.”

Then came the final text of the night: “OH FUCKING HELL!!!!!!!!!…

*****

If that’s the sort of fun you can have with a simple text message – and trust me, you really can enjoy yourself that much – just imagine the erotic potential of the world of Skype!

There’s no sexting in While the Wife’s Away, my debut trio of short stories, but there is sex in a scenic lift and voyeurism via CCTV…

It was around ten that evening that the intercom sounded and Sir Gordon said he needed to see me.

It may have been late but this was the time he did most of his paperwork so I went to see what important business matter couldn’t wait till tomorrow.

As I entered, he was sitting on the sofa, dressed in his customary silk pyjamas and dressing gown, watching television.

But it was what he was watching, or just finishing watching, that stopped me in my tracks, for I could see myself on the screen, slumped naked on the arm of the tatty sofa in Terry’s shed as the gardener pulled up his trousers and turned so he was looking into the lens of a secret camera, pausing to smile and wink just as I had seen him do at the end of his session with the eager Irene that afternoon.

“He’s quite a guy our Terry isn’t he?” said Sir Gordon, taking a sip from a glass of whisky and then replacing the glass on the table beside the couch where he was sitting, completely undisturbed by the fact that I now knew my employer was a voyeur.

“He’s not my type really – we only ever did it the once just to establish who gives the orders – but he’s good for putting on a show for an old man like me and, as I can see you know, he always delivers…

The technology adds a nice 21st century twists to the stories but ultimately it’s the sex that counts and the variety and range of erotic the situations the characters find themselves in.

*****

My readers will know that what I like most is big hairy men who like to fuck and be fucked – anywhere and any time!

Even in the 21st century, the technology is just an aid to the storytelling – and who needs a mobile phone once you have two men sweating, shafting and sharing their spunk?

Blurb:

While the Wife’s Away is a collection of three gay short stories from well-known erotic author Kris Andersson.

While the Wife’s Away: When the boss suggests an evening meeting at his home and makes it quite clear that his wife is away for the night, you can guarantee that there will be more than statistics and spread sheets on the agenda – and by the end of the night a new sort of business partnership has been created.

Masters and Servants: It’s hard losing your job – and even harder looking for something new. But just how far will one man go to impress the boss? From steamy encounters in the office to passion in a scenic lift and shower room to lust in the potting shed, this is one job search that proves especially stimulating!

The Sin of Father Anthony: When a new priest arrives in town, one lapsed Catholic decides it’s time to start attending Mass again – but he has more than absolution on his mind as he uses his girlfriend to get closer to the true object of his desire and give him a night he’ll never forget. From lusty housekeepers and choir mistresses to a hairy trucker with a taste for stockings and suspenders, this is a story packed with sexual thrills for a young man on a personal mission to satisfy his gay passion.

Buy Links: 

Amazon UK
Amazon US
All Romance eBooks
Barnes & Noble

Bio:
Kris Andersson is an award-winning writer – and occasional actor – who specialises in gay erotica. His work has been described as both pacy and steamy. His current titles include While The Wife’s Away – a collection of three stories, Acts of Passion, and A Special Gift.  A fourth title is expected to be published very soon and will take Kris in a very different direction, a gay love story set against the horrors of the First World War and its aftermath.

Janine Ashbless Tells the Story Behind Red Grow the Roses

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It’s my pleasure to welcome the amazing Janine Ashbless to my site today to share with us the story behind her sizzling, intense new vampire novel, Red Grow the Roses. Welcome, Janine. Do tell!

Hi KD – how great is it to be here on your blog!

You asked me for the story-behind-the-story of Red Grow the Roses, my new vampire-erotica novel. So here goes…

I wrote Red Grow the Roses because I was asked to. I was working for Black Lace at the time, and I was just happily starting on a new book of short stories, when the editor mentioned to me that he wanted only one paranormal title for 2010, that it “has to be vamps,” and did I want to write it?

My first thought, to be honest, was, “Me? You’ve got the wrong person!” I had written one vampire short for BL, but I’m actually on record telling the world I didn’t like vampires (This was in the days before True Blood, you have to remember. I’m now a huge fan of True Blood. I am not a huge fan of Twilight):

“Vampires do nothing for me. I mean – I am happy with them as predators, or as vehicles for introducing dominance and/or a little necrophilia to an erotic story; it’s when the author wants to use them as characters that my eyes glaze over. Why? It’s epitomised by a montage scene in Interview with a Vampire where the years pass over New Orleans. In these centuries human beings with their pitiful short lives have created beautiful art and architecture, established complex societies and communities, turned swampland into a thriving city. What have the vampires, with their eternal youth and their physical superiority and their accumulated experience, achieved? Well, they’ve killed some people and drunk absinthe. And one of them plays the piano a bit. Boring, boring bastards.” (From the Lust Bites blog)

But I said “Yes”. And then I sat down and thought about how I could do it. How to get a handle on vampire characters. How to write this from the heart and the head and the groin.

• I didn’t want to do a Laurell K Hamilton rehash.

• I didn’t want to write “human-girl-falls-for-immortal-vampire-Dom-and-gets-turned”. That’s been done too often before. (And, it turns out, after.)

• In Bram Stoker’s Dracula, there’s a real sense of spiritual horror about the vampire. He’s genuinely uncanny and disturbing. He’s dead. He’s cut off not just from human society, but from the grace of God. He has charisma, but the prospect of being turned by him is terrible. How could I recapture that sense of disquiet, for a readership that no longer automatically believes in God, and thinks that being immortal and super-powered sounds pretty cool, really?

• What I really wanted to write was short stories. I think erotica (though not romance) works best, for me, in short story form. That way you can have variety of characters and situations and kinks. And the poor reader doesn’t have to read the book at one sitting, and end up with wrist-cramp, just to get to the next bit of plot.

So, I thought, I’d write a book of short stories. Each would stand alone. Each would have a different protagonist and a different writing style. Each would feature a vampire, and together they’d add up to a single overarching storyline. They’d almost all be written from the point of view of the human beings whose lives are touched (and sometimes wrecked) by something both horrific and seductive. And I’d make it really bad to become a vampire, because yes they’re powerful and immortal – but as they get older, not only do they become more magical, but they lose their minds and their resemblance to humanity. The oldest vampire in RGtR is nearly incorporeal; she drifts about in mirror glass and other reflective surfaces, and is more like a predatory ghost than anything else.

How to tie the different stories together? Well, I’d do what I’d wanted for many years and structure it around the enigmatic folk song Green Grow the Rushes. That song creeps me out even before I start imagining what it references. You know the one:

I’ll sing you Ten-O,
Green grow the rushes-O!
What is your Ten-O?
Ten for the Ten Commandments:
Nine for the Nine Bright Shiners:
Eight for the April Rainers:
Seven for the Seven Stars in the Sky:
Six for the Six Proud Walkers:
Five for the Symbols at your Door:
Four for the Gospel Makers:
Three, Three the Rivals:
Two, Two the Lily-White Boys, clothed all in green-O.
One is One and all alone
And ever more shall be so.

Each line would get a relevant story. That’d make it a real challenge to write! And I’d call it “Red Grow the Roses.”

The whole concept came to me in a feverish rush. After that it was just a case of filling in the blanks (like: how many vampires, what would make each one stand out from the rest, what sexual themes did I want to cover?).

So that’s what it is. Eleven different short stories, with points of view ranging across male and female, innocent to knowing to bitter; written in first second or third person; each narrative shedding light upon the others. One is a fairy tale. One is a romance. One is hardcore female humiliation. One is brutal male-sub. One is all Victorian Gothic corporal punishment. One is themed entirely around the names of rose cultivars.

Black Lace stopped publishing just before I finished writing this book. It would have been too long and too offbeat for them anyway, I suspect! (I turned down another publisher later because I was told to cut out the backstory between sex scenes). But now Red Grow the Roses has found a home with new publisher Mischief – and hopefully on many a Kindle.

It’s my scary, bloody, dangerous pride-and-joy.

xxx
Janine Ashbless

Blurb:

Maybe you’ll be lucky. Maybe he’s not human. He’ll take you in his arms and you’ll feel his strength – a strength that makes it impossible to fight him. But you’ve already lost the will to resist, that moment he looked into your eyes and showed you all his hunger and his promise. You knew then. You knew that this is what you are for – what we are all for – with our warm beating hearts and our aching sexual needs.

We are for them.

There are six vampires in the city. Ageless, terrifyingly beautiful and always hungry – not just for blood but for the other pleasures the human body offers. Sadistic chanteuse Estelle; feckless Ben; Roisin, the mirror-ghost; Wakefield, haunted by his own damnation; Naylor, the most feral of them all.

And Reynauld is the Good Shepherd, the one who holds them all in check. But his grip on his own humanity is fading, and when Wakefield accidentally kills a woman and Naylor gets the blame, a power-struggle erupts between the city’s immortal undead.

Red Grow the Roses tells of bloodlust and sexual desire; for vampires the two are indistinguishable. These transgressive, startling stories draw the reader down the darkest and most seductive paths of pleasure – to where the monsters are waiting.

Excerpt:

‘Oh, Doug. Is that how you ended up in the Church?’

‘I thought that if anyone knew about these things, if anyone had the answers, it had to be them.’

Unable to comfort him, she leaned in and kissed his lips softly. She was surprised and gratified when he took her hand and guided it to his groin, back to his erect cock.

‘Cerri,’ he mumbled, kissing her deeper. His hard-on jumped under her fingers, giving no sign of flagging, no sign that he’d already emptied all chambers. Uneasiness stirred in the back of her mind even as she ached to pull him into her. He’d stayed stiff as a pole all the way through his story.

The nasty suspicion, once formed, grew to monstrous proportions. Pushing him back, Cerri bent for a closer look. And there it was: yes. On the underside of his cock, near the base: two dints in the flesh, one a little higher than the other. Puncture-marks. ‘Fuck,’ she said hoarsely: ‘You’ve been bitten.’

‘What? No, I -’

‘You’ve been bitten already.’ She stared into Doug’s uncomprehending eyes, her voice rising. ‘He’s already had a piece of you!’

‘But I haven’t – I don’t – When?’

‘This afternoon,’ said a silky voice behind them. ‘Funnily enough, I don’t usually feel hungry during the day, but you were just so fucking sweet and irresistible. And the look on your face…’ Cerri scrambled round and saw the speaker, the vampire Naylor: beautiful, glittering and jagged as razor-wire. He was nested in the angle of the landing ceiling, arms spread like a blasphemous crucifix, clinging to the plaster by a network of dark tendrils that emerged from his flesh like cobweb, melding him with the shadows. ‘Rather like that look now,’ he finished with a ghastly smirk.

She knew she hadn’t seen him until that moment. She knew they’d been through every room of the house and if he’d been there he couldn’t have remained hidden. Not if he were human, anyway. ‘You were in the house all the time,’ she said, feeling sick. ‘We didn’t seal you out. You were already here.’

‘Uhuh. I’ve been here since last night. Not as clever as you think, are you girly?’ He slithered down from his impossible perch and landing on the carpet lightly, the shadow-tendrils hissing as they dissolved. Doug scrambled to his feet, yanking up his trousers and holding them with one hand. The other one sketched a cross in the air.

‘In Jesus’ name -’

‘Didn’t work last time, won’t work this. You’ve too many doubts, little God-botherer. Plus,’ he added acidly, ‘I think the fact you’ve just hosed your scuzz all over your witch girlfriend’s tits might count against you. Pretty impressive, by the way – the spunk-show, I mean. And,’ he admitted with a long hard glance at Cerri, ‘the tits. I’d like to bite them off.’

‘Don’t you touch her!’ Doug barked. Cerri came up behind him and put her hand on the small of his back.

‘You should go, Naylor. You’ll only be making trouble for yourself.’

He tilted his head, an odd smile dancing in his eyes. ‘I should be angry with you, witch-bitch. You get in my way. You’ve gone and spoiled my dinner.’ His eyes, green as poison, narrowed as they flicked back to Doug. ‘But you know what? I’m not angry. You two just went and told me a lovely story. The most interesting story I’ve heard in years. And that’s why I’m going to play Mr Nice.’

Buy links:

http://www.amazon.com/Red-Grow-the-Roses-ebook/dp/B006PW46O8/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1328179252&sr=1-1

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Red-Grow-the-Roses-ebook/dp/B006PW46O8/ref=sr_1_10?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1328098712&sr=1-10

Personal links:

www.janineashbless.blogspot.com

www.janineashbless.com