Victoria Blisse is a mother, wife, Christian, Manchester United fan and award winning erotica author. She is also the editor of several Bigger Briefs collections, and the co-editor of the fabulous Smut Alfresco, Smut in the City and Smut by the Sea Anthologies.

Victoria is also one of the brains behind the fabulous Smut events, days and nights dedicated to erotica, fun and prizes. Check out  for more details.

She is equally at home behind a laptop or a cooker and she loves to create stories, poems, cakes and biscuits that make people happy. She was born near Manchester, England and her northern English quirkiness shows through in all of her stories.

Passion, love and laughter fill her works, just as they fill her busy life.

You can find often find Victoria procrastinating on Facebook , Twitter  and Pinterest

To find out more check out

Always Christmas in Lincoln

It isn’t really always Christmas in Lincoln but when Felicity gets her man it feels like it.

Felicity hates Christmas. It reminds her of a traumatic event from her childhood. She thinks the Permanent Christmas shop is tacky, with its windows full of trees and tinsel all year round and would rather it disappeared from her picturesque home town.

When she discovers that Carl, who she lusts over every time she sees him in the tea rooms, is in fact the owner of Ho, Ho, Ho! She’s not quite sure what to think. It takes a sexy meeting in the middle of a fake winter wonderland to make her realise the advantages of Christmas in the middle of summer.

As time passes, Carl and Felicity indulge in more sexy liaisons but as Christmas approaches Felicity doubts whether she is anything more than a sensual distraction for the festive shop owner and when her handsome ex, Sean, sweeps into town on a quest to win her back she finds she has a tough decision to make.

Can Carl and his Christmas cheer win over her hardened heart?

Excerpt © Victoria Blisse

I have to walk past Ho, Ho, Ho! every day and I don’t understand it. It’s the middle of July and the window is filled with Christmas trees, tinsel and snow. It’s been like that since last Christmas and will be like that next Christmas and it won’t change much in between. Funny thing is that tourists and locals alike flock to that place all year round.

They’ll laugh when they go past, maybe even exclaim their shock, but moments later they’ll be in there and, nine times out of ten, they’ll exit with a holly-patterned bag in hand. I’ve never been in. I hate Christmas at Christmas time and I sure as hell don’t want to be reminded of its existence every damn day, but to get to my quirky vintage boutique I have to walk past the place. I find it depressing.

Most people accept it because the shop used to be empty and an empty shop in Lincoln is not to be tolerated. It looked scruffy and locals did not like that one bit. I don’t count myself a local, though. I only moved into the area a year ago, from the far less glamorous Wirral. All right, so I come from Birkenhead, but thankfully I don’t have that Scouse screech – my parents brought me up a whole lot posher than that. In their world, we lived in Cheshire – after all, that’s what the postcode indicated.

I’d visited Lincoln with my mum on one of those weekend coach trips. I’d treated her for her sixtieth birthday and I’d fallen in love with the place. The cathedral is dramatic and dominant, as is the castle, and everything in between is so quaint and ‘olde worlde’. The high street is less picturesque, but I avoid going down that end of the hill as much as I possibly can.

Yes – there is no escaping the hill, I’m afraid, and many people huff and puff and come to a stop outside my window on Steep Hill, pretending to be interested in my stock when really they just want a breather before they take on the rest of the slope. I find that it works out very well for me, since many of these people actually come in and purchase something once they’ve got their breath back.

I love the range of people I meet in my little boutique. It never ceases to amaze me how many people from all over the world I have buying things in my shop on a weekly basis. I can virtually guarantee I’ll see a German, an American, someone who’s Chinese and a Scottish person every week – close to every day, in fact. Lincoln is a massively popular tourist destination.

As I opened up on that bright, sunny morning, I smiled. I loved my job. I sourced clothing from all over the country, along with jewellery and knick-knacks with a vintage feel. I get to pick and choose things I like and fill my shop with them. I don’t sell a thing that I don’t love and that makes for one very happy shopkeeper, I can tell you.

I say shop like it’s something impressive but it’s not a particularly huge one. The building is pretty ancient – not quite as old as some of the other buildings along this cobbled street, but still old enough to have been around when Shakespeare was bigger than X Factor. I felt the age of the place like a comforting blanket the first time I came to visit. I knew I wanted it the moment I walked in the door and, although small, it’s perfectly formed for what I need.

I’m lucky – my parents gave me capital to set up my business. However, I pay them back a significant sum each month and so I have to work hard to ensure I make enough money to pay them and keep a roof over my own head – which, believe me, is hard work.

I set about sorting out my stock and putting a float into my till and all the other daily routines I do.

I like routine. I like everything to happen just so and at the right time. I’m not a fan of surprises; I’m not terribly impulsive. All of which probably explains why I haven’t been on a date in more years than I care to remember, and why I was lonely. I was. I was mostly happy on my own. I could do what I wanted, how I wanted and when I wanted, but some nights I did just long for somebody to snuggle up to. Someone to share my dreams with.

Christmas is a time for giving and so is Blissemas.

I started off the Blissemas tradition with just a week of festive treats from yours truly but each year it’s grown to include a variety of amazing authors and now lots of great companies too. Each day you have a chance to win a couple of prizes. The daily spot prize and the grand Blissemas prize of a £100 amazon voucher (or dollar equivalent!) How cool is that?

I want to kick off the festivity with a guaranteed prize for every single person who reads this blog. A festive free read. A bit of adult fun in Santa’s grotto!

If you want more adult fun come join me at the Alternative & Burlesque Christmas Fair on the 5th December at the o2 Ritz in Manchester where Smut.UK will have our stall.

We’ve got the World Famous Erotic Tombola with some sensational prizes from UberKinky, Nice ‘n’ Naughty, Rocks Off LTD, and many others,

Lots of Kinky Christmas gifts and cards to purchase as well as smutty books from Victoria Blisse and some of the other awesome Brit Babes to spice up your festive season!

Plus: A chance to win yourself a very smutty brand new Kindle Fire full of lots of Erotica and Erotic Romance.

A Juicy Christmas Treat from Victoria Blisse

“I told you not to leave me with the lights,” I sighed as he walked back into the dimly lit grotto.

“Oh dear, how on earth did you manage that?” His eyes twinkled with mirth as he took in my predicament.

“Well, I plugged them in and they didn’t work and so I was working through to find the dodgy bulbs and I found a knot and I untangled it and there was another and then I ended up with the flex round my wrist around my back and I thought one more twist would free me but erm, it didn’t.” I sighed, flustered and embarrassed.

“Hold on my dear, let me see if I can make this better.” Jake picked up the length of Christmas tree lights, looked at it then wrapped them around me, including my free arm, holding me fast.

“Jake, what are you doing?” I stiffened up, cheeks hot, eyes wide with shock.

“You started it,” he whispered in my ear, dropping a kiss to my neck from behind.

“But, Jake, we can’t play now, not here!”

“Why not?” he purred, wrapping the wire around my waist, over my stomach and across my wrist, holding my left hand down at my side.

“Well, firstly we’re in a church,” I stated firmly. He ran his hands over my bonds, straightening them, checking their tightness and my stomach lurched.

“And we’re supposed to be finishing off the grotto not you know, each other.”
He tightened the wire and tied it in a knot.

“Still not hearing a good reason to stop, my darling.”

Oh God, he really means business when he calls me that.

“Well, the bloody vicar could walk in at any moment, isn’t that good enough?”

“Nope.” He shook his head, the fringe of brown hair falling over his eye until he flicked it back. “I want you and I want you now.”

Protests died on my lips, replaced by his kiss. I was scared, we were meant to be finishing off before the Christmas fair tomorrow and Diane could walk in at any time to check on us, the vicarage was just across the road. It seemed all kinds of wrong to be so turned on in the grotto, the place where tomorrow Santa would sit on his special, red velveted throne and hand out toys to good girls and boys.

I was being incredibly naughty even though I’d been trying really hard to be good.

“God, I love seeing you tied up,” Jake groaned, tracing his fingers over the line of lights just below my bust. “Can’t you feel it?”

He pushed his hips forward, pressing his bugling jeans against my stomach.

“Yes, Sir.” I panted, the word of deference falling off my lips without thought. I was tied up, at his mercy. I assumed the submissive role that I was so comfortable in with him.

“Good girl,” he purred, tipping my chin back and pulling my gaze to his. “Now, get on your knees and suck my cock.”

His words sent my blood pounding down to my core. He knew how much it turned me on to please him with my mouth.

I fell to my knees, unwieldy with the lack of my hands to balance me. The scattered tinsel broke my fall, my knees softened from the blow of the cold wooden floor. I watched him unbuckle his belt, pop open the buttons and slide down the zip of his jeans. He dropped the trousers and pants down his thighs and revealed a mouth-watering erection.

Jake stepped forward, so I could reach his cock with my lips. I knew I’d have to do all the work with my mouth, my hands fastened firmly in the tangle of lights, one up my back, one at my side. Centering my pout at the end of his erection I rolled my lips down over his head, sucking and enjoying the salty liquid that had pooled there.

With each bob forward I took more of him. Each thrust down I grew braver, sinking my mouth lower, inhaling his clean musk, feeling his heat, enjoying his moans and grunts. The soft glow of the grotto lights highlighted the power of his arousal. I struggled between keeping my eyes open to drink in the beauty of him, his cock, his tightening balls and the soft expanse of his stomach, tickled with dark hair. And with shutting them tight to not see the tree and the seat where Father Christmas would sit. It was so naughty fellating my master, in the church grotto of all places.

“God, Veronica,” Jake gasped, pulling on my ponytail, “you’re so fucking good.”

Desperately I sucked on him as he dragged me back with my hair, my scalp screamed with the tightness of his grip.

“No more, no more. I’ll come and I don’t want to, not yet. Stand up.”

Now that was easier said than done, but with a steadying hand I managed. The moment I was upright, Jake slipped my snug thermal leggings (it’s cold in the church) down my legs’til they pooled round my ankles.

“Your turn,” He knelt before me and pushed back gently on my tummy. I stepped back time and time again until the velvet edge of Santa’s throne nudged the back of my thighs, knocking me off balance so I fell into the chair. My arse was on the edge of the seat my neck rested on the back, feeling the carved wooden chair underneath the soft throw. My knees rested together until Jake put a hand on each of them and spread me wide. I couldn’t protest as his tickling, bearded kisses up the inside of my thigh drove me wild. Suddenly I didn’t care who saw, I just wanted to feel his lips and tongue on my aching clit.

He pulled away from me suddenly.

“I wonder…” He grabbed the plug at the end of the lights and pressed it into the plug socket beside the throne, leaning under my thigh. Nothing. No lights. “Oh well.”

He shrugged and moved back to where he’d been, fingers tickling my thighs, lips poised above my glistening pussy.

His beard tickled as his lips travel up to the centre of my desire, I want to scream for him to move faster but I knew that wouldn’t end well. He’d only tease me for longer. Eventually he reached my lower lips and swiped his tongue up and down, lapping and sucking as I bucked against his face.

“Oh my God,” I exclaimed, not untouched by the strangeness of the sexual cry in such a sacred space. My cheeks flushed with heat, but not in embarrassment, with lust. I knew our desire was pure and good and I was sure God appreciated the many thanks he got mid fuck. Sex is good, sex in a church might be a little bit naughty though. I was completely absorbed in the way Jake devoured me. The discomfort of my arm behind me, the lights digging in to my ribs, stomach and breasts only seemed to magnify the pleasure that throbbed through me.

I came hard, his hands against my inner thighs, holding me wide as he lashed his tongue against my clit over and over, the desire tore through me and the echo of my scream bounced and echoed through the whole of the church. I gushed, squirting everywhere as he manipulated me.

“Oh fuck, Santa!” I gasped in frustration. I’d made a mess on Father Christmas’s throne.

“No, he’ll have to wait. I want to fuck you.” Jake pulled me up and seated himself on the chair.

He grabbed the wires around my back and pulled me down onto his lap, onto his cock and the lights came on. We laughed in unison and then Jake began to move.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck” Each thrust jolted an expletive form my lips. It was so lewd to be fucking when we should have been decorating the Christmas tree. In Santa’s Grotto. In church. To be fucking, wrapped in the lights that should have been on the tree. To be tied up, lit up and enjoying it so thoroughly. It was wanton, wicked and so fucking good.

“You’re such a naughty girl,” He groaned, hands on my hips, fingers digging into my flesh, “fucking on Santa’s throne, wetting it with your juices. Oh, you’re such a naughty girl, Veronica.”

“Yes,” I gasped, “yes, I am, Sir.”

“And that is why I love you.” He dug his fingers into my tender flesh as he came with a grunt a growl and a slowing of the pace.

“Love you too, Sir.” I panted.

He wrapped his arms around my waist and planted a kiss on my back.

“Most beautiful Christmas tree ever.”

“Thank you,” I replied, feeling his smile against my skin. “But you can’t leave me in here to light the room.”

He stayed stubbornly quiet.

“You won’t will you, Sir?”

“No,” he laughed, “my Christmas tree is for my eyes only.”

He helped me disengage from him and the lights, we dressed and got back to the decorating.
We lit up the lights, on the tree this time and I suddenly remembered Santa’s seat.

“Oh, Jake, we’ll have to take the throw from Santa’s chair home to wash.”

“You will, can’t have Father Christmas sitting in a wet patch! I did enjoy my juicy Christmas treat, though.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Picking up the throw I fold it so the wet parts are folded inside. My cheeks hot with a strange mix of embarrassment and pride. I’d never be able to look at Santa’s grotto in the same way again.

Ho, ho, ho Merry Blissemas!

If you would like a bit more Festive Blisse there’s plenty out there to choose :

Comment below about something naughty you’ve done to get an entry into the Blissemas Grand Prize Contest. Check for full terms and conditions.

WIN a complete collection of Smut.UK eBook Anthologies!

One Winner will be selected at random at midnight on the 2nd December and will receive the prize.

Smut.UK are the team behind the successful anthologies Smut by the Sea (1, 2 and 3), Smut in the City, Smut Alfresco, Smut for Chocoholics, More Smut for Chocoholics and Sapphic Smut.

They also run fabulous Smut Events, these are day long festivals of fun with Workshops, Reading Slams, Presentations and Much More, the next will be Smut by the Sea taking place in Scarborough on the 28th May.

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This Spot Prize has been generously provided by the wonderful Smut.UK

Blissemas 2018

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