It's Christmastide once more and that can only mean one thing for me, cuddling up in bed with the ample charms of the truly delicious Victoria Blisse and bringing you some smutty treats for the festive season!
It's been a really productive Christmas for me, with new stories in anthologies and my first collection of lit-erotica finally making it into print after more than a year in publisher land. To say I'm excited is an understatement.
Venus & Sappho has been a big departure for me, since, although I've always favoured character-led stories, the temptation to let my heroines have explicit sex was always at the forefront, and it was a real challenge for me to write a book that was just as sexy as all my previous collections, but to be very sparing with the loving nipple descriptions.
So, as it's Christmas, here's a little taster for you all to whet your appetites before the turkey takes over and you're fighting over the stuffing! This is from North, a story of a woman retreating to the Scottish islands after the break up of her relationship:
And then it was August. An unexpected sun soaring high in a suddenly azure sky, the sharp wind mysteriously abated, the fields a softly undulating sea of yellow silage grass, ripe and ready to be reaped as soon as the bailing machines returned, buffed and polished, from the crowded show park where their owners’ prize heifers were being paraded for the judges’ carful consideration and unending lines of little girls in lace and tartans danced like tireless marionettes on creaking temporary stages, their eyes set firmly on the gleaming silver trophies that rested on the judging benches, just tantalisingly out of their reach.
Susannah was in the tea tent, sleeves rolled up and her face flushed pink as she filled and refilled the bubbling urns, doling out cup after chipped delft cup of tarry brew to cherry-cheeked farmers and their rotund little wives, gaggles of florid-faced ginger-haired children running around their feet like demented Hobbits, the sound of unintelligible Tannoy announcements and pipe music and the incessant thumping of old Abba hits from the fun fair a cacophony louder than Bedlam in her ears. And, then, miraculously, it was six o’clock and the day was over, the stalls packed up and the cattle herded from their pens and into waiting silver trailers; visitors from the mainland scuttling for the last ferry, drunk farm boys throwing wild punches around the sprawl of beer tents at the edge of the fair.
“You’ll stay for the helpers’ dinner and then maybe the ceilidh?” a short woman in a shapeless feed company tee shirt that was trying to cover too-tight leggings smiled at her, taking her arm and leading her across the field. Pretty in a frumpy sort of way, Susannah mused absently, languid grey eyes beneath that ridiculous fringe and a warm smile. Chubby, of course, but nice tits. What the hell, she thought, the scent of cattle and churned up grass making her feel quite heady. How far have I sunk that I’m rating the local mommies? And yet she went along to the dinner and found herself pleased to be petted and fussed by motherly women who piled her plate with rich beef stew and bright orange clapshot and filled her waxed paper cup with more rum than she had ever drunk in her lifetime, all of them piling into the dance tent some hours later in a ribald giggling herd, wild country women letting their hair down for one night in their year of unrewarding toil and labour.
Strings of coloured lights had been threaded along the marquee’s interior circumference since the early evening, and the grass floor covered in clean sawdust where the cattle had been paraded earlier in the day, a polished wood surface for dancing laid in the centre, five red-faced men with accordions on a makeshift stage thumping out country dance music as aged couples whirled and skirled around the floor.
“Come on, dance with me, I’ll be the man,” her companion of earlier whispered, taking her in her chubby arms, her rum-laced breath hot and spicy, fat breasts pressing into Susannah’s own boyish chest as she leaned in close, too close, and whirled her around the crowded floor.
“Is your husband not with you?” Susannah asked, drunk and exhausted but not a little aroused by the sweet but unaccustomed scent of fresh female sweat as they flew across the boards, her hands feeling the heat of fleshy hips, the her partner’s palm hovering perilously close to her bum.
“Oh, no, he’ll be propping up the bar with his friends till they close. I could get myself a toy boy on show night and have it away with him in the car park without anybody ever knowing,” the woman laughed, holding Susannah close and breathing into her ear. Her hand slipping further downwards.
Oh dear, Susannah smiled ruefully, disentangling herself from the fat woman’s embrace as the music shuddered to a halt. Just another drunk dry-humping her way around a dance floor and pushing her tits into whoever was nearest. She wasn’t going to embarrass herself by trying to net this particular filly, even it had been over a year since she had known another’s touch.
Venus & Sappho Walk Into A Bar... by Vanessa de Sade is available in paperback and Kindle download
