Hello and a fabulous Frisky Friday to you all!
We hope you’ve had a Christmas of aplenty and decadence, been spoilt rotten and shared good times with your loved ones… We’ve have enjoyed a short break and are raring to see what the new year might have in store for us!
This first Free Erotica Friday of the year is set aside for some hot n’ bothered moments with Janine Ashbless; an authoress who loves to have her cake and eat it..!
Happy New Year and Enjoy! 😉
Named and Shamed by Janine Ashbless
Hi there – I want to give you an excerpt from my most filthy book this Friday! Named and Shamed is an erotic novel set in a contemporary England where the fairies (and the trolls and the witches and all the bad stuff you remember from fairy tales) have Come Back in a big way, and as a result human society is falling apart.
My heroine Tansy has stopped off at a rural pub while searching for a talking fish (trust me on this one!). If she appears to be acting a little strangely, it’s because she’s under a fairy curse…
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.”
Aaron 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?” he said. “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 Gifts to the Fair Folk should never be rescinded.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.
“Ah,” he said, eyes narrowing. “You’re a smart ’un. I should take you to meet my gaffer.”
“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, revelling 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.
The Gaffer snorted a little laugh down his nose, then glanced away toward the bar counter. “White wine for the lady, Richard.”
The barman from the main room had appeared from around some corner behind the optics and was leaning on his elbows watching us. His smile had been polite the first time I’d approached him, but he had a real leer on his face now. He knew what was happening. Nodding, he reached under the counter.
“Want to play pool?” said Aaron, recognising that we’d been dismissed for the moment.
I shook myself from my sexual sub-space and nodded. I’d played a lot of pool at college. I was pretty good.
So they racked us up a new frame on the blue baize and someone handed me a cue. It was all part of the display, of course. The first time I bent over to take a shot there was a collective murmur, half jeer and half whoop. My denim skirt was very short and the motion exposed both the curve of my ass-cheeks and my panties. I paused and glanced over my shoulder. A couple of the guys had casually affected a low lean, for no other reason than to get a good view up my skirt. My knickers were, I recalled, a silky and inappropriate virginal white that day, and there was every chance that the moist stain of my sex juices was visible on the gusset. I wiggled my ass cheekily, then sank the first ball with a loud crack.
Laughter exploded around the room. I think they finally realised then that I was playing along willingly with their conspiracy. And as the game progressed I teased them more and more wilfully. Those standing opposite me, as I leaned over, got a fine view down my heavy cleavage, and those standing behind cheered each glimpse of my ass. There were even some difficult shots where I had to cock one thigh up on the table edge. I loved it. I loved their attention. I loved their lecherous, predatory adulation. I loved the way some of them had a hand in a trouser pocket and were playing their own game of pocket-pool as they devoured me with their eyes. I loved the way every man in that room, from the strutting grinning Aaron to his narrow-eyed Gaffer, was looking at me and imagining sticking a cock into me — my cunt, my mouth, my ass — and fucking my brains out on the stained blue baize.
Every time he crossed round behind me, Aaron made sure to grope my ass, to general appreciation. I had no objection at all, but I wondered what he’d do if I didn’t present. So after the fifth or sixth time I turned and faced him. And with a grin he showed me. He took the cube of cue chalk and carefully, lingeringly, blued both my nipples where they stood out big and hard through my soft cotton top. His arrogance took my breath away. I had to wrench myself out of a daze to take my next shot.
As the points ratcheted up, Aaron presented me with a glass of wine. I’d have put money on it being spiked.
“I don’t need that to get where I’m going,” I smirked, handing it off to a spectator so I could carry on whupping him.
Aaron took losing to me in good humour, even as we approached the endgame. He wasn’t above cheating though. Just as I was about to sink the eight-ball, I felt something very hard press with great accuracy right into the softest, juiciest part of my pussy — almost accurately enough to enter me, were it not for the flimsy barricade of my panties. I jumped and the shot went wild. There were howls of laughter from the assembly.
Twisting to look over my shoulder, I saw Aaron crowing at his own joke, his pool cue reversed in his hand so that the thicker, blunter end was pointed right at my sex.
“Playing dirty, are you? Well, I like a good hard shaft,” I remarked.
“Whooooooooo!” went the men appreciatively.
“How much wood can you take?” leered Aaron.
I looked at the cue end, considering its girth, and then glanced at my audience. “Oh,” I said, licking my lips, “you’d be amazed.”
About the book:
“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 fairy tale, 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. Immerse yourself in this dark and depraved fairy tale, and may all your endings be happy ever after!”
Named and Shamed is available at Sh! Women’s Erotic Emporium in London (I know because I saw it!) and also at:
And the non-Kindle versions include lusciously dirty B&W illustrations by John LaChatte!
About the author:
Janine Ashbless is a multi-published author of erotica and – occasionally – erotic romance. She’s always used elements of fantasy, mythology and folklore in her writing, with forays into horror. Janine loves goatee beards, ancient ruins, minotaurs, trees, mummies, having her cake and eating it, and holidaying in countries with really bad public sewerage. She s a roleplaying geek and can still sometimes be found running round in the woods hitting other geeks with a rubber sword. It is unlikely she will grow up anytime soon. Janine lives in England with her husband and two rescued greyhounds, and is trying hard to overcome her addiction to semicolons.