Excerpt from Janine Ashbless’ Named and Shamed
I’m delighted to welcome Janine Ashbless here as part of her blog tour. Today, she’s sharing an excerpt from her super hot BDSM paranormal erotic novel, Named and Shamed.
Once upon a time . . . a naughty girl called Tansy stole a very precious manuscript from a kindly antiquarian. But all of the world’s ancient and powerful magic, lost for centuries, has returned – and now there is much more at stake than a few sheets of parchment.
Thus begins a rude and rugged fairytale the likes of which you NEVER read when you were little! Poor Tansy is led though the most pleasurable trials and the most shameful tribulations as her quest unfolds before her. Orgasmic joy and abject humiliation are laid upon Tansy in equal measure as she straddles the two worlds of magic and man.
From debauched dryads to oversexed ogres, fantasy and BDSM slither together to make Named & Shamed the consummate adult fable – all lusciously illustrated by John LaChatte. Immerse yourself in this dark and depraved fairy tale, and may all your endings be happy ever after!
“Do you want to see the Bour Tree?”
I hesitated, running my tongue-tip across my lip. “Okay. But I thought elder trees were bad luck.”
“Not this ’un. She’s a good ’un.”
He led me out into the garden. This was where all the women were, I realised: watching indulgently as their kids ran riot. Aaron took me over to the bush, which had three big trunks and a host of lesser ones. Hanging from the twigs was a glittering array of kids’ tat: plastic key-rings and fuzzy little animals, transforming robots, a toy aeroplane, a necklace made of sweets.
“See?” said Aaron. “You make her a present and she gives you a wish.”
I could hear some of the kids chanting as they skipped rope on the grass nearby:
Bour tree, bour tree: crooked wrong
Never straight and never strong
Always bush and never tree
Since the Christ was hanged on thee.
A Christian gloss on a much older warning, I thought.
“Hmm,” I said, noncommittally. I didn’t want to offend the man. Or the tree.
“Go on,” he said.
A lock of my hair swung down across my face as he reached up without warning to my temple, pulled out the hairclip there and snapped it over a twig. My mouth fell open.
Aaron grinned. “Make a wish.”
The hairclip was a cheap one with a white fabric flower on it. Even if it had been silk and diamonds, I wasn’t sure it would have been wise to snatch it back. Gifts to the Fair Folk should never be rescinded.
I made myself relax again. “I don’t need to. Mine’s already come true,” I said, letting him know I could be just as cheeky and forward as he was.
His eyes held mine, dancing. “Take a flower then.”
I lifted an eyebrow and sought out one of the white clusters with my hand. “Give me of your wood, old girl,” I said softly. There are traditional formulae for turning aside an elder’s malice, and that’s one of them. “And I’ll give you mine when I grows into a tree.”
“Ah,” he said, eyes narrowing. “You’re a smart ’un.”
He took the flower from my hand, blew on it to remove any stray insects, and tucked it gently into the V of my shirt neck. His fingertips brushed my bare skin, setting it off in electric sparkles.
“I should take you to meet my gaffer,” he said.
“Is he as cute as you?”
Aaron drew himself up, laughing. “No one’s as cute as me. Do you play pool?”
“Come on then.” He walked me round to another door at the back of the inn, and as we crossed the grass he put his hand casually on the swell of my ass and kept it there. I didn’t object. Once inside the door, in the corridor within, he drew me up against him and kissed me. It was a slow, soft and deeply dirty kiss, his tongue teasing its way past my lips and one hand drifting to squeeze my left breast and tweak my nipple. I responded to that in a manner far from ladylike — pressing up against him with eager, breathy mews of pleasure and sucking his tongue deeper into my mouth. I wanted him to push me up against the wall and ram his cock into me, there and then. The knot of flesh in his trousers grew hard as I ground myself against it, and his other hand tightened on my ass even as his mouth deserted mine.
“Oh, you’re hot,” he growled under his breath. He rubbed my nipple between finger and thumb, pinching it until my knees nearly gave way. “I bet you’re a real goer.”
“You won’t know till you try,” I whispered, running the tip of my tongue over his lips.
“Hh.” His eyes glittered with secretive speculation. “Be patient. Come on through.”
With one hand around my wrist he drew me through another door. The smell of beer and cigarettes rolled over me, a sweet pubby aroma I found very pleasant. This was another bar room. The space was dominated by a pool table and it was full of men standing about with pint glasses in their hands — they seemed to have a real gender segregation thing going on here — and everyone stopped and stared as we entered.
“Look what I found,” said Aaron, putting his arm around my shoulders and giving me a squeeze. It might have been meant to be reassuring. Or it might have meant something else altogether, like preventing me from turning tail and running. “She’s real friendly, like.”
There was no way I was leaving. I looked around and grinned, understanding very well. The men here were of all ages from eighteen up, dressed casually or in country style with flat tweed caps. Not an urban metrosexual sophisticate among them, and they were all openly ogling me. Someone whistled. I could feel their gazes like so many groping caresses on my tits and thighs, and it filled me with heat. I thrust my breasts out a little further, reveling in the attention and feeling my nipples swell to hard points.
“Come and meet the Gaffer.” Aaron let go long enough to pat my ass, then steered me round the table. The Gaffer was one of the guys in the tweed caps, big and middle-aged and paunchy. He stood surrounded by a little knot of men who looked like they’d been hanging on his every word. He might not have had prepossessing looks, but it was clear he had status, and I that was being presented for inspection. His pale blue gaze slid over me.
“This is Tansy,” said Aaron, running one finger down my spine, making me gyrate and squirm.
“A pleasure to meet you, Tansy.” The Gaffer lifted his gaze from an unabashed consideration of my boobs and looked me in the eye. Without blinking, he added. “You’ve done well for yourself there boy. She’s pretty. Magnificent knockers.”
It was a test, of sorts. A calculated slap in the face, to see how I would react. I flushed and giggled, dropping my gaze with a strange instinctive coyness. I could feel my pussy swelling at the compliment. Because it was a compliment — degrading and crude and offensive, it was still an acknowledgement of my desirability by the most important man in the room. I got it. In times of trouble, scared people look for leaders. It just so happens that the sort of guy who wants to be a leader is usually a tool of the first order, but that doesn’t matter to them. Even if he chooses to impose some sort of weird elder-tree cult it doesn’t matter, as long as he leads. I knew that with a single word from this man I could be on my knees in this back bar, tugging open his flies and sucking his cock while he sipped his pint with a complacent smirk and everyone looked on.
I wet my lips.
1 Erotica e-books:
1 Place for Romance:
These e-versions include 19 interior illustrations by John LaChatte, as does the paperback:
Named and Shamed is also available on Kindle (via Amazon sites), but without interior illustrations.