Welcome to the website of Janine Ashbless. I'm a writer of fantasy and paranormal erotica and - more rarely - scorching romantic adventure. I like to write about magic and myth and mystery, dangerous power dynamics, borderline terror, and the not-quite-human. And hot filthy sex, obviously...



The Prison of the Angels

Romance Novel: third in the Book of the Watchers trilogy

The third in my fallen angel trilogy, The Prison of the Angels, has been released by Sinful Press!
Named and Shamed
Fierce Enchantments
Rights to Named and Shamed and Fierce Enchantments have reverted with the closing of Sweetmeats Press - both have now been re-published with lovely new covers by Sinful Press.

The King's Viper
I have begun self-publishing reverted works with my Ashbless "brand" covers. Erotica is released with red covers, Erotic Romance with blue, as above.


To my absolute delight I am immortalised on the "Islands of Erotica" in the Map of Literature by artist Martin Vargic. You should so buy this awesome best-seller of a book!

Recent Publications:

Heart of Flame
In Appreciation of their Cox
The King's Viper
Sweet Hel Below

Short story: Sweet Hel Below

Latest Blog Post

Blue Monday

Every Monday I post a naughty excerpt for your pleasure!

Since the nights are drawing in and Hallowe'en is on the horizon, I thought I'd showcase a story from my erotic vampire novelRed Grow the Roses.

Story? Didn't I just say it was a novel? Well yes, but it's a mosaic novel, made up of stand-alone shorts in different styles and voices. This excerpt is from Story/Chapter 6: Five for the Symbol at Your Door. In this case the symbol is a pentagram: Cerri the pagan witch has been hired to help Doug ward off a prowling vampire. She instructs him to rub himself with garlic oil. Then she finds out that Doug is the local vicar...

Kicking off her shoes she made her way on bare feet through the shadowy house. Lady Bast clear the path for me, she prayed. The bathroom door was closed. Drumming her fingers on the wood in a token knock, she didn’t wait for an answer but turned the handle. It wasn’t locked. From within the room a wave of scented steam washed over her: pungent garlic and sharper more fragrant ginger. Doug was fastening his trousers; he turned hurriedly at her entrance and stared. Shirtless, his skin glistened with oil; his hair was darkened into damp locks. His torso was neat and tight of line rather than broad or bulky. He looked horribly discomforted to see her there, and his hands bunched protectively over his groin.

Oh yeah, thought Cerri: not bad at all.

‘Cerri – please!’

‘You done? I came up to see if you needed any help.’

‘I’m done. I managed fine.’

‘Every inch?’ She gave him a come-on grin. ‘Back, sack and crack?’

He nodded, biting his lip.

‘Bet you didn’t manage between your shoulders. Turn around – let’s have a look.’

He looked like he wanted to protest, but he obeyed without another word, and she glanced over the smooth taut skin of his back.

‘There. You did miss a bit. I’ll sort it for you.’ Silently she pulled her blouse off over her head and dropped it behind her. He’d plugged the handbasin and poured some of the oil out into that, a pool of gold in the white porcelain. Dipping one hand in, she laid it between his shoulder blades and felt him quiver as if she’d given him an electric shock, his spine arching. Her second hand joined the first and she smoothed her fingertips down his back, feeling the muscle and the frame of bone beneath. ‘That’s better.’

‘Oh dear God,’ whispered Doug, which she thought not entirely appropriate for a vicar.

‘Doesn’t it feel nice?’ She was massaging the oil into him now, kneading at the flesh, feeling him push back into her. She watched a drop of oil gather and run down the defile of his spine, and she traced it all the way down until it disappeared under the waistband of his chinos. ‘Oops,’ she murmured, following the drop with a fingertip and nearly sending him into convulsions.

‘Cerri, you mustn’t.’ His voice was hoarse. ‘I can’t. It’s not right.’

‘Why not? You lot aren’t celibate.’

‘That just means I’m allowed to get married. I can’t be having it off with anyone I like, you know.’

‘So you like me?’ She leaned into him, not caring that she was getting her bra messy, her hands exploring their way round his waist to his stomach, tracing paths through the line of oiled hair there. He felt lean and hard and good to hold.

‘I ... I can’t.’ But he wasn’t making any attempt to stop her. She found out why when she reached down to brush her fingers across the front of his trousers and encountered a rock-hard mass bulging against the cloth.

‘Oh? Why not?’ She worked the button of his fly with the other hand.

Don’t. Our bodies are not ours alone. They belong to God.’

‘I can go with that.’ He didn’t seem to be wearing any underwear.

Doug sounded strained, almost ready to crack. ‘We have to treat our own bodies and each other’s as holy. I need to – Oh Christ!’ That was the moment at which she got her hand around the erect shaft of his cock. The blasphemy startled her, but she held on tight as he shuddered violently against her, stretching his spine.

‘Shush, lover,’ she whispered, pressing her breasts against him, sliding her grip up and down his substantial length. Fuck – for a slim-looking guy he was a surprising handful. He’d oiled it too, as promised, and it slipped and slithered under her palm with luxurious ease, every ridge and contour a delight to her. Cerri pulled his trousers down over his hips, letting them slide to his calves, and laid her free hand on his ass-cheek, feeling the clench of his muscle. She licked at his shoulder and tasted the aromatic oil. ‘How long since you had a good lay, Doug? The truth now.’

He rolled his head back, panting. ‘Nearly – ah – not since Uni.’

‘Do you jerk off?’


‘Do you masturbate, Doug? Do you make yourself come?’

‘Yes. Oh God ... I try ... not to do it too much.’

Why not, lover?’ Her hand was moving up and down in a slick inexorable dance.

‘It’s disrespectful ... to those I’m thinking about.’

Without letting go of his erect cock she slithered round in front of him, looking up into his flushed, stricken face. ‘Don’t you respect me, Doug?’ she asked with a gentle smile, her hand never ceasing its work but moving slower now, firmer. She was worried that he would explode far too fast if she let him. His stomach muscles were tight, his shoulders tense. He looked down into the depths of her cleavage as if into an abyss.


‘Take my bra off.’

His hands shook as he smoothed down the emerald straps from her shoulders and released her breasts from their confines. Her nipples were big to match the generous orbs and they pointed at him, beading visibly in accusation. She wondered if she would be able to get him to suck them. She wanted him to suck them. She wanted him to lick her pussy: she had a feeling he’d be very good at that. She wanted him to suck her clit while she straddled him and gobbled his cock.

‘Oh, you’re beautiful,’ he said, like something inside him had broken, and she smiled.

‘It’s okay. It’s fine. You can think about me every time you come. I’d like that.’

Without warning he caught her face up in his hands and kissed her. It was clumsy but that hardly mattered; it was also hungry and desperate and staggeringly sweet. It was as if he were trying to breathe her in. Cerri felt a quite unexpected rush of warmth flash between them.

‘Woah,’ she said, her eyes shining, as they drew apart.

‘Cerri, please...’ His eyes were losing focus.

She liked being in charge. Gently but firmly she pushed Doug back against the bathroom sink, and he grabbed the ceramic with both hands. ‘Spread your legs,’ she murmured, kissing him, and as he did so she cupped his oiled balls in her other hand.

His head went back straight away, his mouth and eyes round. She played with his scrotal sac, rolling the balls within and tickling his perineum. That made him gasp. His cock, already massively solid, seemed to swell in her hand. He was going to come real soon, she could tell; he was going to erupt all over her wicked fingers. She stopped looking up at his face and focused on his crotch, noting each tightening muscle, each subliminal quiver. And the more she played between his thighs, the closer he seemed to get. There were beads of sweat springing out through the sheen of oil now.

Is this what you like, lover?