Wednesday, 29 November 2017

Vanessa at Blissemas

Hello Again, Chicken Noodles!

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

Tuesday, 28 November 2017

To coincide with the launch of my new book I shall be on Blissemas on December 13th 2017

Wednesday, 12 April 2017

Pain - Part of an Occasional Series of New Flash Fiction

She trembled as he bound her wrists and bent her gently over the table, parting her legs so that her cunt showed.  Are you ready? he whispered and she nodded, gritting her teeth in anticipation of his sharp stinging blows.  Later, she would come loud and hard, but even the pneumatic sweetness of her climaxes could not compete with the bitter-sweet ecstasy of his cane, and she was already finished and yearning for their next session as she heard him yanking down his zipper.

Wednesday, 5 April 2017

Do You Love Me - Part of an Occasional Series of New Flash Fiction

Do  You Love Me

Do you love me? she asked as he undressed her, seemingly insecure because her bra and pants didn’t match.  Oh, sure, he replied, hungry, dragging her jeans and knickers down together, desperate to bury his face in the softness of her young bush.  You’re just saying that, she sulked, pushing her cunt into his face, impatient for the feel of his tongue on her clit.  In all honesty, she didn’t much care for foreplay but felt that she ought to make some pretence at insisting on it when, really, she just wanted him to bring her off hard and then flip her over and fuck her, no questions asked.  Say you love me, she pleaded now, as his lizard’s tongue began to worm its way into her slit.

Tuesday, 4 April 2017

Bliss. Part of an Occasional Series of New Flash Fiction


There were plenty of names for them - boobs, tits, melons, knockers, bazooms, you name it, she’d had it shouted at her.  And they were big, even she had to admit that, and sometimes she could feel the very weight of them lying heavy, like sleeping puppies, in her bra, the nipples stiff and perky. catching the eyes of passing boys as she strutted the prom in the bouncy heat of a noonday summer sun.  And, sometimes, when she was alone in her room, she fantasised about unfastening her blouse in front of Mrs Kelly from next door and having the older woman suckle on her outsized breasts.  It was her idea of pure bliss.

Monday, 3 April 2017

Games - Part of an Occasional Series of New Flash Fiction


Sometimes, when she felt mischievous, she would oil his cock in the morning before work while he was still drowsy.  Warming the lotion in her hands first, so that it wouldn’t make him start, watching his nakedness like  a predator, his member fat and sleepy, not quite erect but still big, all soft and languid, swollen from sleep and the warmth of the bedcovers.  And she loved to feel him stiffen as she applied the salve, feel him growing and hardening like a stop-motion film of seedlings pushing hungrily through the spring soil, stiff unyielding saplings of green new wood.  Hard and strong.  Don’t stop, he murmurs now, waking, but she just smiles and heads to the shower, leaving him becalmed on the bed with it towering up like a flag pole.  He can follow her if he wants to play.

Thursday, 19 January 2017

Oh tie me down and lock me in a room with the delicious Victoria Blisse!  

As part of the lovely Victoria's Restrained festival, here's a little excerpt from my story, The Honeymoon Suite, in House of Erotica's Calling the Shots:

"Don't raise your voice to me," he said very quietly, "or I'll have to punish you…"
Sam looked at him open-mouthed again.  "I beg your pardon?"
"You heard."
"You'll have to punish me?" she repeated dumbfounded.  "What are you?  My Victorian father?"
"No, I'm your husband," he said very sternly, pointing at the new ring on her stubby white finger.  "You belong to me."
"Now wait just one fucking minute," Sam began, flying into one of her legendary rages.  "If you think for just one moment that I'm going to…"  But she never finished the sentence as Hugo grabbed her by the shoulders and flung her face down on the bed.
"I think it's time I taught you a lesson in wifely duties," he grunted as he pushed her down and deftly bound her ankles with silken cords that seemed to have been placed beneath the vast divan for just this purpose.  No wonder the bastard had been so particular about designing every detail of the beds himself.  He'd planned this all along.
"Get the fuck off me," she yelled, spitting with rage and trying to raise herself up off the softness of the marriage bed, but with her legs bound securely akimbo it was almost impossible to get upright and Hugo gave her a gentle push and sent her facedown again. 
"Help, HELP!" she screamed, more furious than afraid, but they were high up on the deserted top floor of a hotel that wasn't due to open until next week, and there was no-one around to hear her desperate cries in this Bluebeard's tower in the clouds. 
"Be quiet," Hugo snapped, taking one plump wrist in his huge hangman's hand and slipping a cord around it, pulling the other end taut through an intricately crafted loop in the bulky rococo headboard that he'd insisted on installing though she'd fought him tooth and nail over it.  "Any more out of you and I'll have to gag you!"
"You and what fucking army?" she'd screamed back, struggling and cursing at him like a fishwife, but he had her well trussed up by now and it was only a matter of time before he had both her arms secured and she lay helpless before him, panting like a landed fish on the huge white bedcover.
"Now," Hugo said, trying to look calm but an inner excitement manifesting itself in the breath that was coming out of him in hot rasping gasps.  "Now, my foul-mouthed little shrew, it's time to learn a little humility."
"You are so fired," Sam spat at him, but he simply laughed.  
"As I've said, you're not in the board room now, so address me with respect…"
"Or don't try my patience or you'll be sorry."
Despite her rage Sam snorted with laughter.  "I'll be sorry?  You have to be fucking kidding me, go fuck yourself and the horse you rode in on!"
Hugo's face became very white and his mouth was suddenly a thin white line.  "Very well, you've asked for this," he said and stalked into his dressing room where his bags had been laid out by the valet earlier that evening.
"What the fuck now?" Sam yelled after him when she suddenly heard a loud ripping sound and realised with a start that he had cut her full white wedding gown and ripped the flimsy skirt in two.
"Hugo, what's going on?" she started to yell at him when he pushed her down hard into the bed's silky softness and she felt the shiver of quicksilver metal on her skin and knew that he had just cut open her flimsy lace bridal panties and that her large white moon-shaped behind was completely bare to his gaze.
She was a short round woman of thirty-nine with large hips and a beautiful sculpted ass, with big bountiful breasts like lush watermelons and a round voluptuous stomach.  She had profuse and luxuriant chestnut hair that she wore long but plaited neatly into a tight braid, and she normally sported a full thick bush like an unruly jungle on her chubby cunt, but, the previous day, had had it waxed away to a silky soft sheen in honour of her approaching nuptials.

"Now," Hugo cried, his voice thick with excitement, "now you will learn!"

Phew!!!  Take a look at the book if that floated your boat and, if you want more spanking good fun, check out Restrained!