Kay Jaybee's Blog, page 105

The Perfect Submissive Is On Tour!!

This week I am delighted to be visiting 5 wonderful web and blog sites to chat about my latest paperback release from Xcite, The Perfect Submissive!

If you fancy following me on my travels- this is where you’ll find me!

30th July: http://catrianasmuse.blogspot.com/

31st July: http://zarastoneley.blogspot.co.uk/

1st August: http://dream-reader-dreamer2229.blogspot.com/

2nd August: http://www.erinoriordan.blogspot.com/

3rd August: http://www.wickedlysexywriters.wordpress.com

It would be great to see you there!! You never know, if I really like a comment left from you on one of those sites, I may just have to send you a free e-copy of the book!

Kay xxx

 

Two Weeks of Tasty Tasters- Day Fourteen- NEW NOVEL ALERT!!!!

It’s the final day of my Tasty Taster’s Two Weeks, and for me, it is an extra special one!!

I am delighted to be able to bring you, not just a juicy chunk of my work to devour, but to launch upon the unsuspecting world my brand new novel!!!!!!!

YES! The Voyeur, my latest BDSM novel from Xcite, which contains heaps of dark full-on kink and, (believe it or not), a healthy smattering of love and affection, goes on sale as of TODAY!!!

Check out this gorgeous cover!!!!!!

Available as an e-book, The Voyeur will be available in paperback in a few months time! With my first novel The Perfect Submissive only just released in paperback, and another novel (Making Him Wait, Sweetmeats Press), out in September, I am rather overwhelmed by how much is happening for me on the writing front at the moment- but I couldn’t be more thrilled!

So, let me introduce you to The Voyeur!

Wealthy business man and committed voyeur, Mark Parker, has a list of thirteen fantasies he is intent on turning into reality. Travelling between his London flat, his plush Oxfordshire mansion, and Discreet, his favourite S&M club; Mark is helped to realise his imaginatively dark erotic desires by two loyal members of his staff. His Personal Assistant, Anya Grant, and his Housekeeper, Clara Hooper.

Upon the backs of his willing slaves, Mark has written out his fantasy list in thick red pen. Only Fantasy 12 awaits the tick of completion against their flesh before Mark’s ultimate fantasy- Fantasy 13- can take place.

But have the girls performed well enough to succeed in the final challenge? And what hold does Anya’s previous employer, the Bridge’s Gentleman’s Club, have over Mark? A place Anya was only too delighted to escape from.

In order to find out, Mark’s girls are going to have to face some of the fantasies they thought they’d left behind them all over again; and while they do, Mark will watch…

****

Partly voyeuristic fantasy, part psychological challenge with an edge of mystery, but completely classic Kay-style BDSM, the tasks set by the voyeur Mark Parker, push his loyal staff to the limit. That loyalty is tested as each challenge is faced, and the reasons behind them begin to become unclear to both Anya and Clara, who privately begin to question Mark’s motives…

The Voyeur was conceived from two stories I wrote for the excellent web site Oysters and Chocolate, called Fantasy 13. I always wanted to expand those two tales into something longer, and at last I have!

Which morsal of this hot off the press novel to tempt you with?? Ummm- Let’s just dive in, and start from the very beginning…

His evening meal complete, Mark sat back, contentedly sipping his cup of strong black coffee. Pulling a small, battered notebook from his pocket, he read thoughtfully for a moment. His self-restraint, although immense, was beginning to run out. It was time for them to progress to the end of the list. Pressing the intercom button, Mark summoned his personal assistant, Anya, and his housekeeper, Clara, to the dining room.

The women arrived swiftly, both aware of the importance of not keeping Mark waiting. Standing on the opposite side of the highly polished dining room table, his employees braced themselves for the coming instructions.

‘I have decided that we will take a trip to Discreet this evening. We will turn our attention to the next fantasy on my list. Fantasy 12.’ Mark’s cool blue eyes deliberately weighed up the reaction of his staff as he delivered his news.

Discreet was the reason that Mark spent such a large proportion of his time in his London flat, rather than in his mini-mansion in Oxfordshire, where his software business was based. It was only at Discreet, the most exclusive of the city’s BDSM clubs, that his increasingly imaginative fantasies could be publically appreciated; most of which involved the observation of other people’s erotic aspirations. Mark Parker was the ultimate voyeur.

Trying hard not to exchange glances with her colleague, Anya could sense the stiffening of Clara’s body as they listened to their boss. She knew that Clara’s mind, like her own, would already be racing; madly trying to guess what Mark’s latest erotic scenario would involve. Having survived fantasies one to eleven, they already understood the nature of the challenges they were likely to experience during the evening that loomed ominously ahead.

‘Anya, you will be less delighted than Clara, perhaps, when I tell you that this trip is intended as a lesson for you; possibly a punishment.’

Forgetting herself for a second, the PA lifted her head and stared Mark squarely in the face.

His lips smiled; his eyes, however, did not. ‘You wonder why? Why, when you are forever questioning my instructions?’

‘But Mark, I …’ Anya stopped talking, aware that by asking why she was simply proving his point. She could feel her nipples hardening beneath her white shirt, as her employer continued to stare at her.

‘Oh my dear Anya, you may never question me out loud.’ Mark’s voice was velvety soft, yet the potential danger of disagreeing with him shone in his eyes. ‘But I know that you constantly query my actions by your reaction to them. Subconscious or not, it has to stop.’

Anya couldn’t believe it; she had always been so dutiful. The perfect assistant. The willing slave. How could Mark know she privately questioned her existence; her choice at being here with him and Clara, living this less than “ordinary” existence?

Clara was hovering uncomfortably next to Anya as Mark came closer. ‘Tonight,’ he said, pulling off Anya’s shirt and bra, exposing her luscious chest to the cool of the room, ‘you will both face a combination of experiences that together make up Fantasy 12. Won’t it be lovely to be able to tick another task from our list, girls?’

They didn’t answer; experience had taught them that nine times out of ten his questions were rhetorical.

Mark twisted the women round; removing Clara’s top as he did so, so he could see both his employees’ bare backs. There, in neat script, a permanent pen had been used to write “Fantasy 1”, “Fantasy 2” and so on, all the way down – the numbers following the length of their spines, finishing with the words “Fantasy 13”. The first 11 rows of black lettering had bright red ticks next to them.

‘Only two more tasks to go.’

This time the girls risked a fleeting glance at each other, exchanging a look of mutual blood-hammering exhilaration twinned with an erotic anticipation it would have been hypocritical to deny.

Mark, during his brief periods of leisure, had painstakingly detailed many lust-driven scenarios he wished to both direct and bring to life. He often wrote notes, accompanied by intricate diagrams of erotic, slightly disturbing, but ultimately satisfying fantasies, in a leather-bound journal that only he was allowed to read.

Anya and Clara knew that the final fantasy, when it came, would be both more difficult and different to anything they’d ever previous experienced. They feared it. They also longed for it. Mark was a clever man, for as each new task unfolded he pushed his faithful staff along with him, darkening their desires and needs closer and closer to his own. Making them as keen as he was to see how far they could go. To see how much they could physically take as they accompanied Mark on his journey of extreme sexual sightseeing.

A cold, clammy sheen of perspiration broke out on Anya’s face, arms, and breasts as Mark danced a finger across her skin. ‘You will both go to your room and change into the clothes I’ve placed upon your beds. You will remain there until I call you.’ Mark pointed to the door, and his employees headed to their small, twin-bedded room without a sound.

As she considered some of the things she and Clara had been required to do over the last six months, Anya privately reassured herself that the trepidation shooting down her spine was understandable and acceptable. It was also irrational, for she knew that Fantasy 12 might not only be tolerable, but enjoyable; and that just because the end of the list was in sight, it didn’t mean the night ahead would involve anything worse than she’d survived before. She could handle this. They both could – no problem.

Then Anya saw her outfit.

Her bed supported nothing but a leather dog collar.

Staring at the total lack of clothing, Anya almost conveyed her horror to Clara, but her lover stopped her with an urgent shake of the head. There was no privacy here, and they never knew if the webcams positioned in every room were switched on or not.

Clara, forcing herself to focus on her bed alone, removed her working clothes, and pulled on the stockings, suspenders, supple black leather bra, and matching high-heeled boots which had been placed ready for her, along with the riding whip which she habitually kept inside the left boot. In other words, her normal Discreet attire.

Unable to secure the collar’s small buckle around her own neck, Anya passed it, her hands unsteady, to Clara. With an expression of concern and sympathy, her partner tightened it around Anya’s slender neck.

Bare-footed and naked, her pulse beating an ever-increasing percussion of fearful expectancy, Anya waited at the end of her bed with the suggestively clad Clara.

Eventually, fully dressed in an attractively crumpled linen suit, Mark came to collect them. Nodding in approval, he slipped a chain lead on to Anya’s collar, before pulling her from the house, with Clara following obediently.

Normally when travelling to Discreet, the three of them would sit in the back of Mark’s chauffeur-driven limo. Today things were different. Pulling Anya toward her little silver Fiesta, he gestured for her to sit in the front passenger seat. Apprehension and humiliation crept over her. He really is going to drive me across London both naked and enslaved. What have I done to deserve this?

Sitting directly behind Anya, Clara listened carefully as Mark whispered instructions to her before getting into the driver’s seat and starting the engine. They had only gone a short distance through the evening streets when Clara’s fingers reached around the back of Anya’s seat and began to fondle her nipples.

Instantly Anya’s tits responded to Clara’s familiar touch, yet every inch of Anya was aware of the possibility of being spotted whenever they stopped in traffic, or passed the light of a lamp post, and she couldn’t help but become increasingly tense, rather than relax into the sensual massaging.

At last they pulled up outside the club. Anya’s face coloured crimson as the valet came to take the car, but having worked at Discreet for years, his face gave nothing away. Mark opened the doors, and gave his girls permission to get out. Rising a little shakily, Anya was aware she was already wet between her legs.

‘Slut.’ Mark gave her an evil smile as he pushed a hand against his PA’s damp pussy. ‘I have obviously left it too long before disciplining you. Your pleasure seems to come all too quickly these days.’

Anya said nothing, but concentrated on speculating how long it would be before the next tick would be added to her flesh; picturing the almost complete list on her back.

Leaving his PA for a moment, Mark passed Anya’s lead to Clara so he could fetch something from the boot of the car. His attractively rugged face glowed with triumph as he bought out a slim, rectangular wooden box. Carrying his prize, he retook the lead, and ordered Anya to her knees. She lifted her eyes to his for a split second in surprise, before becoming sensible of herself and obeying. The cobbled path was hard, uncomfortable, and damp from recent rain. As she was ushered along, Anya’s knees scraped on the concrete, grazing away layers of skin as she struggled to keep up with her master without choking on the collar.

Discreet was a BDSM club exclusively for those with money. The lighting was suitably subdued and the music, which was the quiet side of deafening, bounced off the walls upon which were painted murals of the Greek and Roman gods of decadence, picked out with splashes of silver and gold. A vast hall with numerous tables, chairs, and sofas dotted about, along with a large, square dance floor in the centre, formed the main section of the club. Along the entire length of one side of the room, the wall was studded with metal hoops, big enough to fasten someone to, via a selection of restraints thoughtfully provided by the management, and at intervals, doors led off to a series of private rooms and offices.

Glancing around, trying to appear as if this situation was normal, telling herself that her lack of clothing wasn’t going to turn a hair, Anya raised her head with a fake confidence she hoped Mark would be proud of. Yet inside she knew that she was fooling no one.

Mark marched Clara and Anya past several girls who’d already been attached to the walls. Some had been tied and abandoned, wishing desperately for attention; others were already feeling the crack of a whip or a probing tongue. An aroma of sex and sweat hung in the air. As they progressed further into the room Anya could see where Mark was heading; straight to the club’s proprietor, Claude. Taking the large, balding man to one side, Mark began a hastily whispered conversation. Anya’s heart seemed to be drumming faster by the minute, and when the owner turned to her with an unpleasant half-smile playing around his lips, she felt sick with nerves. Why me? Why not Clara?

The manager signalled to the DJ and the music stopped. All Anya could hear was the chatter, groans, and steadily rhythmical smacks from those too occupied within their own personal heavens and hells to notice that the room was very much quieter than it had been a few seconds ago. Those less involved in what they were doing swivelled toward Claude with a questioning look; and consequently toward Mark, Clara, and Anya.

Taking a step forward, Mark pulled hard on the lead so that Anya’s neck jerked toward his legs. ‘My bitch here is guilty of questioning my requests.’ Abruptly the room fell completely silent, and everyone turned to see what was happening as Mark’s voice boomed out. Keeping her gaze lowered, Anya stared at the dusty floor.

Opening the lid of his box, Mark pulled out a large piece of folded white card. As he unfolded it, he dragged Anya to one of the unoccupied rings on the wall before securing the lead to it, ensuring she couldn’t stray. Then he stuck the rectangle of card upon the wall next to her tethered body.

In bold black type it said, Do what you want to me, but I must not be satisfied. I have been very bad and I do not deserve it….

*****

I hope that has tickled your curiosity! If so, The Voyeur is available from today on Amazon UK, Amazon US, and all good e-retailers!!

Well, that brings me to the end of this Two Weeks of Tasty Tasters. I hope you’ve enjoyed all the work I’ve featured here over the past fortnight. I would just like to say a BIG thank you again to all my writing friends for contributing to the last six days of this extravaganza- every single extract was sizzling!!

This is a blog feature I will definitely be running again!!

Kay xxx

Two Weeks of Tasty Tasters- Day Thirteen- Guest Blog with KD Grace

Day Thirteen! Unlucky for some- but not for us, for today the one and only Kd Grace is here! Over to you Ms Grace…

Kd Grace- Photographed by D Woolfall

After much thought, I decided to share some of the first volume of my Lakeland Heatwave Trilogy, -Body Temperature and Rising, with you on Kay’s site today.

Let’s dive right in with the blurb- American transplant to the Lake District, Marie Warren, didn’t know she could unleash demons and enflesh ghosts until a voyeuristic encounter on the fells ends in sex with the charming ghost, Anderson, and night visits from a demon. To help her cope with her embarrassing and dangerous new abilities, Anderson brings her to the Elementals, a coven of witches who practice rare sex magic that temporarily allows needy ghosts access to the pleasures of the flesh.

Deacon, the demon Marie has unleashed, holds an ancient grudge against Tara Stone, coven high priestess, and will stop at nothing to destroy all she holds dear. Marie and her landlord, the reluctant young farmer, Tim Meriwether, are at the top of his list. Marie and Tim must learn to wield coven magic and the numinous power of their lust to stop Deacon’s bloody rampage before the coven is torn apart and more innocent people die.

Body Temperature and Rising is my first novel length paranormal erotic romance- which a hefty touch of thriller about it! This volume will be followed by the second, Riding The Ether later this year, and then I’ll be bringing you the finale, Elemental Fire in the New Year.

In the meantime, here’s the complete first chapter of Body Temperature and Rising to tickle those erotic taste buds…

Chapter 1                 

Out of nowhere the clouds descended, blocking the mid-day sun and the view of the Borrowdale Valley below. The path ahead of Marie vanished in a roil of thick mist. She shivered, then squinted at her compass. Damn it! The weather forecast had promised sunshine for the day, unseasonably warm, it had said, just like it had been all week. She reassured herself that there was no real way she could get lost on Maiden Moor and High Spy, so close to civilization. Then why did the mist feel so unsettling?

            She shifted the pack on her back and tried to remember if this was the rout she had taken with her parents. But that was fifteen years ago, and there had been no fog.

The world around her fell silent, as she stepped cautiously forward. She heard no bird song, no breeze, and stranger still; on what was a frequently walked path, she heard no other people. It was as though she were the only person left in the world. As she followed the flank of the fell around, the silence deepened still further until even the sound of her own breath seemed muted in the mist. Goose flesh rose along the back of her neck, and she shivered. A few more steps and the sound of a woman’s voice, half whispered in the mist, stopped her in her tracks.

            ‘Anderson? Are you there?’

            The knot in her stomach tightened at the possibility of this Anderson being lost to his companion in the fog.

            ‘Anderson?’ The voice came again. It didn’t sound particularly frightened. ‘Anderson, I need you.’

            Marie was about to round an outcropping of rock that obscured the path when, directly in front of her, the mist cleared, and she caught sight of the woman calling for this Anderson guy. Her dark hair was pulled back in a heavy pony tail, and her legs extended forever from underneath kaki walking shorts.

            Marie was about to make her presence known when out of the fog, almost as though he had materialized from nowhere, stepped a dark-haired man with a closely trimmed beard. He was broad shouldered, a little taller than the woman, and dressed in a black suite of vintage cut.

            Damn tourists, Marie thought. What the hell was he thinking coming onto the fells dressed like that? Her irritation was interrupted by an intense tingling of heat below her navel that flashed hot, took her breath away and nearly drove her to her knees before it cooled to a warm buzz and skittered down low inside her pelvic girdle. Just then the man scooped the woman into his arms and kissed her with an open-mouthed tongue-fondling that left Marie’s insides feeling like warm toffee. Instinctively she stepped back, not wanting to interrupt the reunion.

            ‘I was worried when you weren’t here,’ the woman spoke between breathless kisses.

            ‘Tara, my love, I came as soon as you called. You must not worry so.’

            She released a sigh that was almost a sob. ‘I have good reason.’

            ‘Of course you do, my darling. But worry will not ease our situation. So we shall do what we must. And I will do whatever it is you ask of me.’

            There was something in the way the man spoke that was strange. The accent was very British, and yet not. And the way he moved against the woman, the way he protectively pulled her to him, the way his mouth made love to hers banished Marie’s irritation that they’d chosen her path for their reunion. Irritation was replaced by longing that ached down through her torso to mingle with the strange buzz that had migrated to the soft spot between her legs, and the air felt suddenly warmer. The man’s hands joined the reunion. He slid the strap of the woman’s tank top down to spill a bare breast heavily into his waiting palm. He paused to knead it and fondle it as though he had never seen anything more exquisite. Then he took as much of it into his mouth as he could. The woman released a shrill gasp as though cold water had been poured onto her. ‘I can feel it,’ she breathed. ‘We were right.’ Then she held him to her, letting him nurse at her in hungry nibbles and slurps.

            Marie should have left, and yet she stood riveted to the rock beneath her, feeling heavy and pliant, as though something had suddenly filled her and was moulding her and shaping her from the inside with fiery hands. Her breasts tingled at the rub and tickle of the man’s beard against Tara’s tender flesh, at the tug and pull of pursed lips on swollen nipples. She felt almost as though it were her breasts at which he nursed.

            Marie clasped her hand over her mouth to hold back a gasp of appreciation as, from the man’s trousers, the woman manoeuvred the longest, thickest erection she had ever seen. Not that she’d seen that many erections, she reminded herself. When had there been time? She could almost feel the hot stiffened twitch of maleness against the woman’s hand.

            As the mist floated around them revealing, concealing and revealing again, he slipped his other hand into Tara’s shorts. She caught her breath and nibbled her bottom lip as he found what he was looking for. Then she squirmed and twisted against him, practically sitting on his hand, as he stroked her. The look on her face was one of deepest concentration.            

For a moment the mist thickened around the couple, and Marie held her breath listening desperately to hungry grunts that she felt deep in her belly and to little throaty moans that tingled down low, down where she shifted almost unconsciously into the dampening press of her panties against her labia.

            When the mist cleared again, Anderson was sliding Tara’s shorts down, kneeling to kiss and nibble her calf as he lifted one exquisite leg free from both shorts and a pale lace thong that was definitely not what Marie would consider standard walking apparel.

            He lifted the freed leg higher until Marie was afforded the perfect view of the woman’s distended lips, glistening like the heavily-dewed hawthorn flowers she’d cut this morning for a vase on her kitchen table. Marie was certain her own pout had to be at least as wet. The heat and the buzz between her legs intensified, and the slippery ache overrode the guilt at being an unwelcome voyeur, as she wriggled and strained against the seam of her walking trousers and her much more practical panties.

            Anderson lifted Tara’s still booted foot onto his shoulder in reckless disregard for his pristine suit. He moved forward cupping Tara’s ass cheeks in large kneading handfuls, guiding her into enough of a squat to position her splayed cunt so that his tongue had easy access. Then he buried his face deep into the woman’s pussy, as though he planned to split her in two with his tongue and the wedge of his face. The woman trembled and pressed back hard against the rock, surly just to keep from collapsing under the overwhelming pleasure of what Anderson’s mouth must feel like eating at her so deeply.

            Marie was amazed that, totally surrounded by fog as they were, her view was still perfect, even enhanced. She could almost feel the distended press of the woman’s nipples as she tugged and pulled at them with the hand not curled possessively in the man’s dark hair. She could almost smell the slippery sheen of the woman’s heat coating the man’s beard. And the rise and fall of his chest matched her own hungry need for oxygen. A single droplet of pre cum glistened on the head of his uncut cock. It lewdly, jutted and danced between his legs like an escapee from his dapper trousers. It boldly proclaimed freedom with each bounce and shudder against heavy balls pressed tight in their own effort to escape confinement.

            It was as if the world in the mist now contained nothing else but the three of them. And the world the three of them inadvertently shared had shifted into slow motion, as though every detail were magnified, intensified and stretched to the breaking point all at the juncture between Marie’s thighs.

            Even in her fantasies nothing like this had ever happened. Marie moved very carefully, feeling the rock shift under her feet as she eased her cold hand down the front of her trousers and into her panties. She shuddered at her first touch. Her knees felt weak as water as she wriggle her fingers in between her pussy lips, already drenched and swelling. She couldn’t hold back a sigh at the velvety feel of herself, at her salty sweet aroma infusing the fresh fell air.

            In the crescendo of her lust she wondered if even the crotch of her trousers would bare the mark of her heat when she was finished, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if her juices flooded and ran down her legs to puddle on the path beneath her, she could not have pulled away if her life depended on it. It was as though she were the invisible third party entangled in a rutting threesome too far gone to disengage. 

            Anderson tongued his way up over Tara’s belly, his face shimmering with her moisture, moving upward to suckle each of her nipples in turn before he pulled her to him and whispered against her ear.

            Marie froze, her hand still in her knickers. She held her breath, but she couldn’t make out the man’s words.

            Tara nodded and spoke breathlessly. ‘Yes, I know. I feel it. Such a powerful lust. We can’t hide it. There’s no way.’ She gave his cock a caress, and it jumped at her touch.

            ‘I fear it is far too late for that now.’ He turned her to the flank of the rise, where she bent, resting her arms against the rock, exposing the half-domes of her ass cheeks to Anderson and to Marie.

            Tara lifted one knee onto a boulder. As Anderson helped position her, Marie caught an exquisite glimpse of the dark clench of her anus. As he spread her and she shifted her hips to accommodate him, the engorged lips of her cunt pouted into view again, open and anxious before him, before Marie.

            As Marie watched his fingers move over the slick spread of the woman’s open folds she wished it were her cunt Anderson were caressing. But at the same time she wished she could touch the soft smooth skin that opened itself so pliantly to his probing. Marie could swear she smelled the tide pool of the woman’s arousal, different from her own, yet so delicious that it made her mouth water. Anderson postured over Tara, his cock like a sword pressing downward in his hand. His open fly exposed only his cock and the squeeze of his balls, which somehow made the act seem all the naughtier.

            Suddenly the air around her chilled. The world tilted, and Marie felt dizzy and confused as though she had just awakened from a dream to find herself somewhere other than where she should be. Hands cupped and splayed her, hands she couldn’t see. An erection that wasn’t there pressed anxiously at her cunt. Her heart hammered, everything below her navel surged hot and trembled. The press of flesh and the smell of sex infolded her on all sides as though she were drowning in a heavy demanding caress, one that pushed at her, prodded at her, nuzzled at her, threatening to overwhelm her.

            ‘Please, Anderson I can’t contain it. Help me.’

It was the sound of Tara’s voice that pulled Marie back from cold panic, just as Anderson thrust home. Then the world warmed again and swung back into focus. Once more the sounds of pleasure filtered through the thick, otherwise silent air. As Anderson mounted Tara with a desperate grunt, it stopped mattering whether they knew she was there, and Marie felt strangely included in their intimacy. She pressed herself harder and harder into the palm of her hand, pinching her nipples until they ached in empathy with the growing rush building just behind her clit, a storm surge threatening to burst the dam and rip her apart.

            Tara’s hair had come free from the pony tail and fell in a dark curtain around her face. Marie could almost see the heat waves radiating up the woman’s spine, higher and higher, as though Anderson jack-hammered them into her with each joint-cracking thrust of his cock.

            It was obvious Anderson was straining close to the edge when Tara pulled away from him and turned around, grabbing his cock and keeping the rhythm steady. He dropped onto a bolder, then she knelt in front of him and began to slide his swollen erection between her breasts, faster and faster. Her eyelids fluttered and her lips moved rapidly, like she was saying something, chanting something over and over again, something Marie couldn’t quite make out. Not that she needed to with the sensory overload already throbbing through her whole body. Anderson, braced himself against the rocks, thrusting with abandon between the tight grip of Tara’s breasts, every muscle tense and quivering, until at last his whole body shuddered. ‘Oh dear Goddess,’ he gasped.

Tara pulled back, guiding his cock so that his viscous load splattered across her breasts in high arching spurts. Marie felt fire spread through her chest and down over her belly in empathy with the couple, and she humped herself harder, whimpering, gasping desperate to come.

            The look on Anderson’s face was ecstatic as he unloaded. Then he joined Tara in whatever it was she was still repeating over and over again. While they chanted, he caressed and massaged and stroked, spreading his semen as though he were spreading lotion over Tara’s body, even up her neck and onto her cheeks and forehead. All the while Tara undulated and moaned beneath his touch and continued her chant.

‘My seed covers, but the power still resides in you,’ Anderson breathed. ‘And shall we release it now, my love?’

            Tara only nodded and continued her breathless mutterings.

Before Marie could wonder what they were on about, he lifted Tara onto an outcropping of rock that was just the right height. ‘Then we shall complete what we have begun. Let me release it for you now, my darling, allow me the pleasure of finishing it.’

            My God, the way the man talked, Marie thought. He could convince a woman her cunt was lined with gold. She could probably come just on his words alone.

            He buried his face once more in Tara’s pussy, and once again, Marie felt as though she had been physically pulled into their intimacy.       

With her gaze locked on the writhing couple, Marie tugged and pinched at the heavy nib of her clit until it buzzed with raw heat close to pain but much closer still to pleasure. She shoved and twisted and thrust the rest of her fingers into her grasping cunt until she reached the precipice, lingered there for a moment, then free-fell into a long dizzying orgasm, just as Tara convulsed her own release in breathless guttural grunts.

Marie’s legs gave under her, and she sat down hard, letting the aftershocks wash over her. Oxygen rushed back into her starving lungs. Muscles, strained to the point of collapse, relaxed and softened. The strange fire between her hip bones subsided to a warm thrum, and as the mist descended around her again, she managed to crawl to a mossy spot. Suddenly it didn’t matter how far she still had to walk or how thick the mist was. She could no longer hold her eyes open.

Just before she dozed, she thought she heard Anderson say, ‘There. That’s better, is it not?’

Thanks for popping by to share your fabulous work with us today KD!!

Buy Links- Body Temperature and Rising is available in paperback and e-formats, from Amazon, Xcite, and all good book retailers.

Two Week of Tasty Tasters- Day Twelve- Guest Blog with Lucy Felthouse

Here we are on Day Twelve already! Today we are in good company- for the prolific writer, web designer (including this site!), and Queen of Erotica For All, Lucy Felthouse is here!

Punish Me Good by Lucy Felthouse

Many thanks to Kay for having me here to share a taster from my work. I’ve decided, in honour of Kay being the Queen of writing fem-dom and BDSM, that I’d share one of my own offerings in this genre. Punish Me Good is a kinky fem-dom tale with a surprising twist—which of course I’m not going to give away. You’ll just have to read the story

Punish Me Good is available either in my fem-dom mini-anthology of the same name, or as part of my larger single-author collection, We Love Lucy.

 

More information and buy links for both anthologies can be found at the links below:

http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/published-works/we-love-lucy/

http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/published-works/punish-me-good/

Excerpt

Malachi knelt before his mistress, looking up at her with complete reverence.

“What would you have me do, mistress?”

Tilting her head to one side, she licked her scarlet lips as she studied her slave. Her mind mulled over the possibilities. There were many. But since she was in charge, she started with her favourite.

“OK, slave. Since you ask so nicely, there are a few things you can do for me. First of all, you can lick my pussy.”

Towering over her sub, Avery shifted her legs apart and smiled as Malachi eagerly shuffled between them, his hands bound behind his back. She was a tough taskmaster when it came to oral sex, so Malachi had his work cut out for him, especially without the assistance of his hands.

Wearing her favourite blood-red PVC corset with matching suspender belt, no panties, and thigh-high boots, Avery knew she looked every inch the slut. What’s more, she didn’t care. She felt powerful, sexy, and totally deserving of her position as Malachi’s mistress.

Malachi, on the other hand, didn’t cut such an imposing figure. He knelt between his mistress’ shapely thighs, lapping at her cunt, wearing nothing but a collar and handcuffs. Determined to emasculate him further, she’d used pink fluffy cuffs. Despite his subservient behaviour, Malachi’s cock seemed to have taken on a life all its own. Rising rigid and impressive from the nest of dark blonde curls at the juncture of his thighs, it nestled against his stomach, oozing pre-come so copiously that it ran down his shaft.

Avery cast a sneaky look at his cock and gulped inwardly as she imagined its bulbous head splitting apart her pussy lips and burying deep inside her. She loved the lifestyle and all the kink and mind games that went with it – but she wasn’t averse to a good old-fashioned straight fuck every now and again. Especially from Malachi.

This time, however, Malachi was definitely going to have to earn his reward. Reaching down to grip his blonde tresses roughly between her fingers, she rubbed herself off against his face. Desperate to please, Malachi’s skilled tongue worked in and around her pussy, massaging her clit and sucking her labia until she was ready to explode. Her clit was massively engorged, full of the blood she needed to survive. Then, with a deft flick of his tongue, Malachi made her come.

Thrusting wildly against his mouth and chin, Avery rode out her orgasm, mildly aware that Malachi was licking and sucking up every drop of liquid gushing from her core. Adoring slave that he was, he never liked to waste a drop.

When she’d recovered enough from her orgasm to regain her presence of mind, Avery roughly shoved Malachi away – so hard that he sprawled onto his side on the floor. Immediately, though, no doubt fearing his mistress’s wrath, he moved so he was kneeling once more.

“Not bad,” Avery said, “though it could have been better. Get yourself over that rack and prepare yourself for punishment. I’m sick and tired of your laziness.”

She was lying, of course. The head she’d just received from her slave had been fantastic, as always. They both knew it, too. However, they were playing a game, and this was part of it. After all, if Malachi wasn’t ‘naughty’ then he couldn’t be punished, could he?

Avery watched, a disapproving look on her beautiful face as Malachi scrambled awkwardly to his feet and walked over to the rack. Bending over the wooden frame, Malachi had to manoeuvre so he wasn’t crushing his still-erect cock. No mean feat, considering he was still cuffed. He looked extremely humble bent over with his pale ass sticking out, begging to be thrashed. You’d think it would be more difficult to make a 6”4’ blonde, muscular man look humble, but Malachi was an enthusiastic sub, did as he was commanded, and did it well. He knew if he pleased his mistress that he would get what it was that he truly craved. And boy, did he crave it. His mouth watered at the mere thought of it.

Marching over to the table where she kept her various instruments of pain and torture, Avery pursed her lips as she perused her choice. Glancing back across at Malachi, she licked her lips at the sight of his juicy ass spread and on display, purely for her enjoyment. Looking at him didn’t help her choose an implement; however, as she knew he would happily take any punishment she meted out. That was the beauty of her slave, he accepted anything and everything she did, completely unquestioningly. He was the best she’d ever had.

Avery decided to go the whole nine yards on this particular occasion and she picked up the most brutal tool in her possession.

Carrying the switch over to where Malachi stood prone, Avery positioned herself behind him purposely so he couldn’t see what she was holding. Then she caressed her empty hand over his soft, yet muscular cheeks. She’d soon put some colour into that pale flesh.

She drew her hand back and gave his bottom a hearty slap. The sound ricocheted around the room, but as always, not even the slightest sound emanated from Malachi’s lips. Bringing her arm back, Avery slapped the other side of his rump, enjoying the heat in her hand and the angry handprint which was temporarily etched onto Malachi’s skin.

Licking her blood-red lips, Avery prepared to thoroughly mark her slave’s flesh. Drawing the switch across Malachi’s ass, she heightened his anticipation by giving him a hint as to what he was in for. She lightly, playfully, tapped the switch against first one cheek, then the other. Suddenly, she drew back her arm then swiped hard at his ass. The resulting sound was a loud crack, which one might expect would be followed by a yell from the recipient. Not Malachi. He remained completely silent. And still.

Used to her slave’s silence, Avery was not concerned by this. It simply made her all the more determined to hurt him so bad that his vocal chords betrayed him. A glance told her that his penis wasn’t betraying him. In fact, it was so hard that it was as red and angry looking as the mark she’d left on Malachi’s bottom. She looked forward to the resultant frantic fucking she would receive after this session. It seemed that the more extreme their BDSM sessions were, the more insane their lovemaking turned out to be.

Encouraged and turned on further by this thought, Avery put her best foot forward, her best arm back, and began thrashing Malachi once more. She lay stripe after stripe on his skin until she’d covered every inch of his ass and upper thighs. Then she began again. Harder and harder she beat him, until finally, she split his flesh. Still, he didn’t make a single sound.

Seconds later, as Avery gazed upon the wound, it closed up. Unperturbed, Avery continued her assault until she’d opened six or seven more wounds, and watched each one knit back together, leaving the skin as if it had never been touched. There was no evidence there to suggest that Malachi had been spanked, let alone switched.

Any normal person would have been howling, wailing, begging for mercy and possibly bleeding by this point. But Malachi was no normal person.

Tiring now, Avery walked back over to the table and replaced the switch. Her blood was thundering through her veins from the adrenaline rush and the vigorous thrashing she’d given her slave. Showing weakness was not something Avery did, however, and she moved once more to stand behind her slave.

“Stand,” she ordered. Malachi complied immediately, turning to face his mistress. He bowed his head in respect.

“You have taken your punishment well, slave. Well; and without complaint, I might add. Turn around.”

Reaching into her deep cleavage, Avery retrieved the key to Malachi’s pink fluffy handcuffs and unlocked them. Tossing them and the key to the floor, Avery gazed upon her loyal and obedient slave. She noticed his cock was still screaming its enthusiasm. Soon, she thought, soon.

“You have received a severe punishment this night and yet you have not questioned or complained. You are truly obedient.”

“Thank you, mistress. I wish to do nothing but serve you.”

“And serve me you shall, Malachi. Come.”

Leaving the room, Avery made her way to the bedroom, slave in tow.

Once there, Avery made her demands known.

“Close the door, slave. Then come to me.”

Naturally, Malachi didn’t need telling twice. Moving extraordinarily fast, he closed the door and positioned himself close to the woman he worshipped, awaiting her next order.

“Remove my corset.”

Malachi moved to Avery’s back and began to untie the ribbon holding together the blood-red PVC garment. He knew the game was coming to an end so he risked doing his task unnecessarily slowly, to heighten the pleasure and anticipation for them both.

“You have pleased me this night, Malachi. You have truly earned your reward. Take what it is that you need from me, my slave.”

Lucy Felthouse- Photograph by D Woolfall

Lucy is a graduate of the University of Derby, where she studied Creative Writing. During her first year, she was dared to write an erotic story – so she did. It went down a storm and she’s never looked back. Lucy has had stories published by Cleis Press, Constable and Robinson, House of Erotica, Noble Romance, Ravenous Romance, Resplendence Publishing, Summerhouse Publishing, Sweetmeats Press and Xcite Books. She is also the editor of Uniform Behaviour and Seducing the Myth. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9

Thanks ever so much for bringing us some yummy BDSM Lucy today!   Can’t beat it (pun intended!!)  Kxx

Two Weeks of Tasty Tasters- Day Eleven- Guest Blog with Clarice Clique

This Two Weeks of Tasty Tasters is going so fast! Joining me today, with a mouth-watering helping of erotica, is the lovely Clarice Clique- over to you honey…

When Kay invited me to share some of my work with you today, I thought I would introduce you to my book Good Neighbors published by the Changeling Press in January of this year.

Book Summary- In a state of undress, getting ready for work in the morning, a woman glances out of her window and sees her female neighbor staring back at her. An adventure of voyeurism and teasing begins, but where will it end?

Excerpt

The first time was an accident.

A typical Monday morning, running around wildly, making a mess of everything. I grabbed my mug for a last gulp of coffee and splattered it over my blouse. I pulled it off, yanking a button loose in the process. I searched through my wardrobe, throwing my skimpy party tops to the side, praying that I had another clean office top. Finally I found one, but the material was too thin. You could see through it to my lacy bra, and through that to the dark circles of my nipples. I took a deep breath, pulled the new blouse and the bra off, and looked for more appropriate underwear. With a plain bra in my hand, I turned to glance at my alarm clock. But it wasn’t the time that caught my attention. Out of the corner of my eye, through the window, I saw her. And I froze.

I’d never bothered with blinds on the bedroom window of my little terraced house. It overlooked farm fields and the garden of one big detached house, and I’d never seen any need to obscure my view for the sake of privacy. I knew a man and a woman lived in the detached house from glimpsing them in their garden occasionally, but I never saw them out and about in the village, and if I had we weren’t even on the “Hi, how are you?” level of casual acquaintances.

Yet, here I was, dressed only in my stockings and office skirt, staring straight into the eyes of my neighbor.

My heart thumped in my chest and I seemed unable to move and do the simple thing of drawing the curtains, or even put a modest hand over my naked breasts. Instead I gazed into the teasing green eyes of the woman who was staring unabashedly at me. She was wearing a short summer dress that moved with the morning breeze, allowing me to appreciate how slim and long her white legs were. Her hair fell loose over her shoulders. If anyone had asked me before, I would have struggled to recall whether she was blonde or brunette. In the light of the morning sun, I could clearly see all the different colors — red, brown, gold, light and darker strands mingling together to create a vision of beauty.

I felt giddy looking at her and forced myself to drop my gaze. My eyes lowered to the curve of her chest pushing against the material of her dress.

Color rushed to my cheeks. I stepped forward, pulled the curtains closed and tried to focus my mind on getting ready for the work day. As I put my bra on, I looked down at the pink-brownness of my nipples. Had my neighbor been able to see how hard they were from where she was standing?

If you’d like to purchase Good Neighbors, it is available from Changeling Press, Amazon, and all good e-retailers.

Many thanks for coming by today Clarice! Another great novella! xx

Two Weeks of Tasty Tasters- Day Ten- Guest Blog with Justine Elyot

It’s Day Ten, and I am delighted to welcome the marvellous Justine Elyot to my site today. Take it away Justine…

It’s so great to be here at Kay’s place, laying out a tempting morsel for you to savour. My excerpt is from my Mischief novel, Game, which I will tell you all about…

Lloyd knew when he and Sophie got together that her sexual tastes were on the wild side – it’s what attracted him to her, after all. But Sophie is permissive with every part of her body except her heart. If Lloyd is to succeed in winning that, he will have to think creatively. A series of challenges takes Sophie deep into the core of her fantasies, not to mention her fears. She experiments with kink of all flavours, multiple partners, exhibitionism and more, in a bid to understand what she really wants. As the game intensifies, each new step into extravagant sinfulness reveals different options for her future. Will Lloyd feature in her final decision? Or will the ultimate risk he takes drive her away from him?

          

Excerpt:

‘Sophie, I want you to stand up and remove your coat.’

I stand up. The tops of my boots tickle my naked thighs, reminding me of the pale expanse stretching from there to the too-high hem of the rubber dress.

I shrug off the coat and hand it to Lloyd, turning away from my audience as I do so and maintaining my huddled half-crouching stance, trying to make myself as small and invisible as possible.

‘Up straight and face our examiners,’ he orders briskly. This means I have to break my eye contact with Lloyd. I really, really don’t want to do this. But I do it.

‘Oh, we’re not examiners,’ coos O. ‘Don’t make the situation more formal than it needs to be. You do look lovely, dear – gorgeous rubber. Call us by our names, Lloyd, if you’re comfortable with that.’

‘Okay,’ says Lloyd from behind me.

I look at a distant spot on the wall behind O and Mal, blurring out their rapacious smiles and lustful eyes. My shoulders are back, thrusting out my tightly confined breasts. The bottom of the dress barely skims my pussy; it would only take the fractional raise of a leg to expose everything.

‘Put your hands on your head, Sophie.’

The movement lifts the dress ever so slightly, just enough to give my new friends a glimpse of shaved lip. The tension created by the latex is unbearably sexy, as is the knowledge of my inescapable exposure. I feel the wetness, the unruly pulse of desire. Lloyd was right. This challenge is going to be easy after all.

‘Now turn around slowly.’

I perform a slow rotation, trying hard not to stick my bum out too far, though I’m sorely tempted. With one hundred and eighty degrees completed and Lloyd’s face back in my register – an evilly intent, highly focused face – he commands me to stop.

‘Bend over,’ he says.

I won’t look at him. I won’t make a face at him. I mustn’t give him failure ammunition.

So I lower my eyes to the ground and carefully let my upper torso follow suit. I feel every upward millimetre of my hem’s progress over the curve of my bottom until it sits nice and square in the middle of my outthrust cheeks, showing everything beneath.

‘I’d value your opinion of her arse,’ says Lloyd politely.

‘Wonderful shape,’ purrs O. ‘So full and round.’

‘The most spankable I’ve seen in a long time,’ is Mal’s verdict. ‘Though it’s a bit pale for my taste. I prefer them redder.’

‘That can be arranged.’ Lloyd!

‘Of course, it’s your call.’ Thanks, Mal.

O has a question now. ‘What kind of things do you like to do to that delicious bottom, Lloyd? How much use does it get?’

‘Oh, plenty. Obviously, like Mal, I like to see it turn red. I like the heat, especially if I put my cock inside afterwards.’

‘Ah yeah, there’s no beating the feeling, is there?’ says Mal yearningly.

Never mind red arses, I’m pretty sure my face is that shade of which they so approve. Just as well it’s beyond their view. In the meantime, my cunt is dripping. Surely they’ll notice soon? Oh God. I clench and unclench the muscles, praying that this will help me keep my secret.

‘Fucking a good hot red arse, you mean?’ says Lloyd, still in this insane polite chit-chat kind of tone. ‘Absolutely. My favourite.’

‘Do you use butt plugs?’

‘Oh yes, she loves those. For pleasure and for discipline. She wore one behind the reception desk all morning once after one particular episode of naughtiness.’

Oh, I remember that. Remember the squirming on the chair, the growing pool of liquid lust in my knickers, the perma-blush on my face as I greeted each guest. He’s such a glorious pervert. They really are going to see the shining evidence of my arousal very soon.

‘I must visit your hotel,’ remarks O. ‘Dr Lassiter recommends it very highly.’

‘Thank you,’ says Lloyd, then his tone changes and I know he is addressing me. ‘Stand up. Turn back around.’

Rather than slide back down over my curves, the latex remains, slightly rumpled, halfway up my bum. As my eyes find that distant spot on the wall once more, Lloyd reaches out an idle hand to caress the bared skin. I only just catch the moan in my throat, replacing it with a shuddery exhalation.

‘Spread your legs, Sophie. Yes, that’s it. Little bit wider. Good.’

My pubic triangle is on display, lips parted to uncover the swollen red bud within. Lloyd, stroking my bottom and running a finger up between the cheeks, pushes me forward an inch or so.

‘Show them,’ he says softly. ‘Show them how wet you are.’

I tilt my pelvis, angling it so that my sex is as fully viewable as possible.

‘Take your hands off your head and hold your lips open for them.’

I obey, feeling as if all my blood is rushing from crotch to face and back again, draining every other part of my body. My legs feel weak and my arms start to tremble.

‘She’s very wet,’ he tells them, dipping fingers lightly into my juices.

‘She likes to be put on show.’ Mal is leaning forward, his face livid red. ‘That’s a great sign. She’ll be brilliant at the master/slave events. Tons of potential.’

Lloyd, standing behind me now, lifts his fingers to my mouth and has me lick them, tasting myself on his warm skin.

‘You’re doing so well,’ he whispers into my ear. ‘I’m proud of you.’

I hate that his expression of pride makes my chest swell and my heart constrict. I hate that. I want to be indifferent to his fucking pride. Why can’t I be indifferent to it?

‘O, Mal, do you like her dress?’

Mal grunts his approval while O repeats her assertion that it’s ‘gorgeous’.

‘Perhaps you’d like to see it at closer quarters, then. Would you like to feel it?’

They don’t need asking twice.

Like big cats on the veldt, they stalk and circle their prey, drawing closer. Lloyd stands aside to let them surround me.

‘Touch her,’ he invites.

If you would like to read more from Game, it is available directly from Mischief, Amazon, and all good e-retailers.

Thanks ever so much for visiting us today- great taster Justine!!

xx

 

Two Weeks of Tasty Tasters Day Nine – Guest Blog with Lily Harlem

It’s Day Nine of my Tasty Tasters fortnight, and I am delighted to welcome the smashing Lily Harlem to my blog- over to you Lily-

Thanks so much for inviting me along to join the fun on Two Weeks of Tasty Teasers.

Since we are looking for spicy excerpts I am going to share with you an excerpt from DESSERT which is my latest novella and part of the Ellora’s Cave for Men line. Yes, you read that right! For Men. These books have been written with the guy in your life in mind, stories to read to get him in the mood for some down and dirty action, or perhaps a bedtime cuddle together with a saucy story to end the day on a high note.

What is different about these books, well, they are all written from the male point of view. The stories are shorter, focus more on the sex than the “relationship”, and are aimed at male sexual fantasies. More of what men want or need from women—sex, love, acceptance, admiration, dirty talk; less of what they don’t need (judgment, drama, expectation of anticipating woman’s needs). Sounds simple right? Mmm, it took a while to get my head around it though luckily Mr Harlem was more than willing to road test the drafts, until we got to one where he said ‘that’s it, this one works for me!’ and that was the end of reading and writing for the day…!!

Blurb

Nyotaimori was new for me, eating my dinner off a beautiful naked woman an experience I’d never been lucky enough to indulge in. So when a customer treated me to a meal at The Geisha Plate it was an effort to keep my cock under control and my focus on the food. Damn, it had been a while!

But control myself I did—until, that is, the spice levels cranked to boiling point and dessert turned out to be a mind-blowing, soul-twistingly delicious blowjob. I instantly craved more.

Plus I’m not a guy who likes debt. I had to return the favor by hook or by crook; it was an urge that threatened to consume me. Luckily my lovely Geisha girl turned out to be the sweetest woman I’d ever had the pleasure of pleasuring, and her healthy appetite for getting raw and naked with me for starters, main course and dessert turned out to be a wild ride for my every fantasy, and enough to keep me more than satisfied in every department.

Excerpt –

“Here we go,” she said, maneuvering back into the tent. She carried the small silver saucepan by the handle, the spoon sticking out of it.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“I’ve melted the chocolate.”

I raised my brows.

“Oh, don’t panic. It’s not boiling, just warm, body temperature.” She glanced at my boxers. “Why are they still on? That’s hardly fair, is it?”

“Guess not.” I shoved the boxers down and kicked them out of the way. My dick sprang upward, rod straight, the swollen head the deep mauve it always became when I was really hard.

Her gaze flashed as she stared at my cock. She darted out her tongue and licked her lips.

I clenched my fists at my sides. I’d done many things on camping expeditions, but this topped them all. Tida looking at my cock as if she was about to feast on it was off- the-scale adrenaline inducing.

“Mmm,” she said, upending my boot and balancing the saucepan on the deep tread rather than the nylon material of the sleeping bag. “Where to start?” She tugged on her bottom lip, filled the spoon with runny chocolate and held her cupped palm beneath it. Her gaze roamed for several seconds then settled on my chest. “Just here, I think.”

I sucked in a breath as she dripped the melted chocolate over my left nipple. It was warm, as she’d said, warm and tickling and caught stickily in the swirls of black hair that covered my chest.

A fat drop formed and started a downward trickle. She leaned forward, tongue out, and scooped it onto the tip. Then she placed her lips over my nipple and sucked gently.

My mouth went suddenly dry and I fought to swallow. Her touch, her caress was going straight to the base of my balls. The way she’d pulled that blob of goo into her mouth, licked her lips and sucked on me was something I’d never forget.

She repeated the action on my other nipple, her warm little body leaning right over mine as she reached to scoop up the chocolate. The end of her ponytail trailed over the hollow at the base of my neck. My jaw clenched so hard it was a wonder it didn’t snap. How the hell was I supposed to just lie here passive as she ate off me? I wanted to ease the pressure in my cock, bury myself hard and fast inside her tight pussy. But I wouldn’t do that, not yet. This moment was magical, off-the-scale sexy. Nothing else existed, just me lying here naked and her licking chocolate from my body.

She dipped her head to mine and kissed me, shared the milky flavor on her lips and tongue. My cock, fierce and hot, jerked. I kissed her back with enthusiasm.

“You are doing very well,” she said with a smile. “But now is the tricky part.”

I didn’t have time to wonder what she meant, because quickly she refilled the spoon and overflowed my navel with chocolate.

My belly tensed, my cock twitched. I screwed my eyes shut.

Fuck, give me it lower, just a little bit lower.

I was aching with the need for relief but also relishing the teasing way she was spreading the brown liquid around my stomach with her tongue. Lapping and licking, slurping and kissing. There was no way I was going to rush this moment.

Well, not for another ten seconds, anyway.

A soft caress on the bloated tip of my cock had me sucking in a breath and pinging my eyes open. She’d filled my slit with chocolate, the trickle over my glans as light as a butterfly .

“You have a fantastic cock,” she murmured, her breath breezing over my damp stomach. “I thought last night how much I liked it.” She gripped the base of my shaft, her fingertips like silk, her hand hot.

I couldn’t speak. My whole body ached. Vibrations of need hummed through me as she pouted her lips, dropped them over my chocolatey slit and sucked.

“Ah, fuck,” I said, jabbing out my hand and curling it over her shoulder. “Be careful.”

She glanced up at me, her lips smeared with glistening chocolate. “Or else?”

“Or else I am going to come, you are just so damn sexy.”

“I know,” she said, setting up a gentle push-pull motion on my shaft. “But isn’t making you come the idea?”

My hips jerked involuntarily. “Sure, honey, but I kinda planned on getting inside you first.”

She stilled and her seductive gaze, black with desire and glistening with arousal, caught mine.

My mind was full of carnal desperation. I’d had enough of dessert, starter or whatever the hell this was. I wanted the main fucking course.

I sat up. I didn’t speak, words wouldn’t form, and if they did they would likely be insane. I just grabbed her and shoved her onto her back.

She gasped and a frown snapped between her brows. “John—I—the chocolate.”

I heard myself growl, low and feral. My hands were busy, pulling at her shorts, dragging off her panties.

“Condom,” she gasped. “Please, condom.”

A brief sliver of sanity returned, but only long enough for me to reach outside, grab the foil wrapper I’d placed handily in a side pocket of my bag and roll the latex down my dick.

By the time I’d done that Tida was completely naked and lying spread before me, her glistening pussy the perfect invitation for my hunger.

Jesus, she is so beautiful.

Her little body shivered. Was it cold or desire? I didn’t pause to wonder. Whichever it was, I had a cure.

I dropped over her and instantly she wound her arms and legs around me. Strong and gripping—viselike. Our mouths connected, her upthrust breasts mashed into my sticky chest and her mound bashed against my pelvis.

Pausing in our frantic kissing, I stared down into her face. Her eyes were wide, her breaths rapid.

“Fuck me, John,” she gasped. “Hard and fast, I won’t break. It is how I want it, hard and fast and now, fuck me now.”

Her words brought out the devil in my desire. I’d always suppressed a frantic, daring side of my lovemaking when I’d been with Janice. Kept my lust harnessed so as not to offend, dare I say it, her prudish disposition. But now here with Tida telling me, demanding, that I fuck her with gusto, I was going to let it out. Throw open the doors and let it steam full throttle ahead.

Punches of sensation slammed into my guts as I reached between our writhing bodies. I maneuvered the head of my cock through her saturated folds and positioned it, primed and ready, at her entrance. I remembered how little and tight she was, reined in some of my urgency and fought for a modicum of control.

She moaned a complaint at my hesitation, increasing the grip of her legs around my thighs and bucking toward me.

I gave her the first inch. Juices spilled around me, easing the way.

“Oh god,” she murmured, fluttering her eyes closed and twisting her head.

Spreading my palm over her breast and squeezing, I gained more entry, my hard flesh parting her soft tightness as I worked my way in.

She was panting for breath, her hands clawing at my back. I shoved in some more, my cock a solid spear of flesh riding into her burning hot depths.

“Oh, it’s so much, so much,” she groaned.

“It’s what you wanted,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Yes, yes, more, give me it all.”

My senses were spinning. I braced my hands on the floor on either side of her head and, in one hard shove gave her everything I had to offer. Buried myself balls-deep in her snug cunt.

“John,” she wailed, her body shifting up the slippery material of the sleeping bags with the force of my thrust. “Oh, yes, yes, that’s it, oh fuck.”

Dropping down, I curled an arm beneath her shoulders and held her tight against my body. She was going nowhere.

I pulled halfway out, could feel cum boiling in my scrotum. The pressure was almost unbearable. I stared down at her as I sank deep again. Her face glowed, her mouth a flat line of acute concentration. Her heavy-lidded eyes gazed up at me. She was every dirty dream I’d ever had. This wonderful young woman who was so giving and beautiful and who was taking all of me as though she would never get enough.

“Faster…harder,” she gasped. Her hips arched again, driving me deeper. “Make me yours.”

Yes, yes. I want you to be mine.

My sac was taut, collecting energy. Her sweet pussy just about blowing my mind. Fiery fingers of pleasure tore up my spine, popping beads of sweat across my flesh. I wouldn’t be able to hold off much longer.

“Ah, sweet baby,” I managed, my voice hoarse and strained. “Come with me.”

“Yes, yes, oh, yes.”

I couldn’t resist her, couldn’t contain the need that had my hips pumping wildly. Only my cock in her cunt mattered. She owned me, she had me. I had her, at this moment she was mine. My loins constricted, preparing for a release I didn’t know if I would survive. It was ballooning so big and powerful.

A strangled groan tore from her lips. She sank sharp nails into my shoulder blades and jabbed her heels into my butt.

Heaven help me.

She was coming, her climax a wild rip of cries and powerful spasms as rapture blasted through her.

I am going to lose my mind.

The flesh of her pussy had constricted noose-like around my shaft. More honey liquid poured from her and wet slapping noises filled the tent as I surged through the final seconds to my orgasm. Hammering in and out of her compressed, quivering entrance, I was sure I was going to kill us both with ecstasy. What a way to go.

It was there. Pleasure consumed me. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. All that existed was bliss blasting up my shaft. Furious pulses of hot spunk filling the condom. It was never ending, a wild release searing through me. On and on semen flooded from my slit. I kept buried as deep as I could go, my hips butting into her pelvis as though I couldn’t get close enough.

“Ah, ah, ah, fuck, yes,” I shouted. Brilliant lights flashed behind my eyelids, my balls packed up high.

She increased her hold. Her cries filled the tent and echoed into my ears. Still her pussy trembled, potent convulsions that drew yet more fiery bliss from me.

I stilled and buried my face in her neck, set about trying to catch my breath and hoped my heart rate would return to normal—one day. It was as though some of my sanity had just been lost. This wild little woman had taken a piece of my soul in allowing me to claim her, take her, go on a wonderful journey of lust with her.

Buy Links

Ellora’s Cave – http://www.jasminejade.com/p-10202-dessert.aspx

All Romance eBooks – http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-dessert-880486-144.html

Amazon US – http://www.amazon.com/Dessert-ebook/dp/B008L0B8AC/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1342453093&sr=1-1&keywords=dessert+by+lily+harlem

Amazon UK – http://www.amazon.co.uk/Dessert-ebook/dp/B008L0B8AC/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1342453011&sr=1-1

Huge thanks for popping by and sharing your latest work with us today Lily- delicious!!!

Lily Harlem- Photographed by David Woolfall

Two Weeks of Tasty Tasters – Day Eight- Guest Blog with Sharazade

We’re kicking off Week Two of my Two Weeks of Tasty Tasters, with a succulent guest blog from the wonderful Sharazade…

Transported: Erotic Travel Tales

Blurb:

Something about traveling can bring your blood to the boil: Is it the exotic locales? The chance encounters with attractive strangers? The break from the routine? These nine sizzling tales of love and lust on the move capture a few of these scenarios: A single woman, wandering the dusty corridors of an old bookstore, runs across a book of erotic woodcuts… and a man with like interests. A slide presentation at an Alaska hotel has some of the guests squirming. A long train ride offers a young woman a chance to examine how she truly feels about her body … with two other passengers. Two lovers on a business trip to Japan confront their problems and their passions in a steamy outdoor bath. A man on a layover makes excellent use of his downtime. Told from both male and female points of view, Sharazade’s inventive stories of goings and … well, you know … will have you at the edge of your window seat, spinning your own fantasies about the unexplored potential of planes, trains, and hotels.

Why did I chose this story?

“Flaws” was a combination story for me, the combination of a problem and a setting. The setting is actually largely autobiographical—a long cross-country train trip I took in my 20’s. This was back in the dark ages, not only before I was partnered but before AIDS and a general fear of sex and strangers that I feel “out there” now, when meeting a sexy stranger on a train could indeed lead to an evening of “Well, why not?”

The problem is also one that’s been with me a long time, and it centers around attractiveness and confidence. Like the heroine of “Flaws,” I have long been told—and indeed, completely believe—that confidence is sexy. If you feel you look great, then you do. OK, but … what if you don’t feel you look great? Then you don’t. And you know it. And so how do you climb out of that hole? It isn’t a matter of giving yourself a stern talking to. You can’t just say, “OK, now I will believe I look great! Whew! Problem solved!” So I wanted to write about someone who knew intellectually about the value of confidence, and yet just didn’t have it. She does know on one level that the “flaws” she sees in her body are ridiculous, and yet … and yet she still feels them.

So when she meets a handsome stranger on an Amtrak train (which I can assure you is entirely possible), she’s both drawn to him and uncertain. This excerpt shows you the flaws she thinks she has and then what happens when that handsome stranger takes her back to his train compartment on the pretext of offering her to let him use his shower (see, being wealthier, he’s paid for a nicer compartment). 

  Flaws

My nipples sag. Not my breasts; they’re not that large, for one thing, and I’m not that old. I mean my actual nipples. I have large ones, like pencil erasers. When erect—from cold or sexual arousal—they stick straight out. Men love that and give them a lot of attention (which is great because they’re also super-sensitive). But…when they’re just normal (at rest, you might say) they droop downwards. If I stood sideways and looked in a mirror, I’d see pert, full breasts…with sagging nipples.

So that’s one flaw.

As if sagging nipples weren’t enough, I also have a scar on my chest about an inch long, just off the center breast bone. It didn’t use to bother me. I’ve had it so long I just never thought about it. But Adam wouldn’t touch it. Seriously—he’d paw all over my chest but somehow miss that tiny patch of territory. That’s when I knew it was a flaw.

Even lovers haven’t seen all my flaws. A surprising amount can be hidden by artfully arranging clothing, or holding the body in the right position, or simply turning out the light. I read somewhere that Barbra Streisand won’t let anyone photograph her from her left side. The article was trying to make out that she’s a bit eccentric, but I know exactly what she’s thinking.

Then there’s my belly—that’s definitely a flaw. It’s not what you’re thinking. I’m not fat. I know that. I could even be called slim. But I have this roll of belly flab that will not go away. Dieting, sit-ups, you name it, it doesn’t work. I think I’ve spent the better part of my life sucking in my stomach. The best position for sex is lying on my back, so the flabby part sort of flattens out. Even better is if I have a pillow under my back so I can arch my chest. Plus, if my chest is leaning very slightly back, my nipples don’t sag. Then all I need to do is artfully arrange one arm across my chest to hide my scar, and I don’t look so bad. As long as I don’t move, that is.

Maybe my most embarrassing flaw is my pussy lips. Or lip. Because one is larger

than the other. No kidding. A pussy should be symmetrical, right? Each side the same? But the right lip is noticeably larger than the left. When I was younger, I thought it might be from the way I masturbated, like I’d built up the muscle on the right side by rubbing too much from that direction. I taught myself to masturbate with my left hand in an attempt to even things out. Of course it didn’t work, though at least now I’m an ambidextrous masturbater.  Because my pussy looks so weird, I don’t like to let lovers look at it. I can usually arrange for the lights to be out by the time things get to that stage, or for the lower half of my body, at least, to be in bed under the covers. I’m a bit nervous about oral sex, too, even in the dark, although I sure do love the way it feels. Can a guy tell just from touching that something’s wrong with one side of me? I’m never sure, which makes it hard to relax.

***

His compartment is small, and I accidentally brush against him as I enter the room. (I was right; he is well-muscled.) The bed is actually a bunk with a lower and upper berth. There’s a full-length mirror on one wall, and a little doorway on the other side that must lead to the bathroom area. He has two suitcases, which seems a bit extravagant. Perhaps one needs a wealth of material to describe the deeds of Herbert Hoover, or maybe he’s just a clothes horse. Some men are. Now that I’m in his room, I feel a bit awkward. How exactly am I going to take a shower? Surely he’d have to leave for a while? But he makes no move to go, and I feel too shy to ask. To cover my nervousness, I lean over the bottom bunk and look out the window. Of course it’s dark, so I can’t see a thing. Now I must look like a complete idiot. Maybe he’ll think I want to see the stars or something.

Suddenly I feel his hand on me, on my side. Startled, I jump up and back into him—there being nowhere else in the little room to go—and now both his arms are around me, turning me to face him. He looks at me without speaking and brushes away a lock of hair with his hand. Oh. My. Okay, I didn’t know this was on his mind. I didn’t suspect this at all. I’m so naïve. Or just dumb. I don’t know what to do. I make a sort of a half move to go, but his arms are firm and keep me there.

And then he kisses me. Oh god. It feels so, so good. I haven’t been kissed in so long. His kisses are gentle, but firm, and … confident. Unbelievably sexy. I give in and kiss him back. I can’t believe this. I can’t believe he’d want to kiss me, but he does. Our kisses grow more passionate, and now his hands are traveling over my body, caressing my back, squeezing my ass, pulling me to him. I think again that I have to get out of here before it goes any further … and then I think, well, why not stay? Why not? I’m young, I’m single, I’m on a train, I’m here with an absolute dreamboat of a guy who wants me. Who cares if it’s only because he couldn’t find anyone better? He’s with me now, and it feels amazing. And with some new confidence that surprises me, I slip my hands under his shirt to feel his body. He takes this as a sign to remove his shirt. I was right—he has an amazing body, smooth and strong. And now his hands are under my shirt too, lifting it over my head.

Oh god. Oh no. I’ve just remembered. It’s not a flaw, exactly, because it’s something I can fix, but … I also have a few hairs that grow on my nipples, at the edges of my areolas. They’re not normally a problem. I just pluck them out. But I haven’t checked in several days, and I don’t know if they’re there now or not. The light in the cabin is certainly strong enough that he’d see them if he looked down. What can I do? I consider breaking away and saying I need to go to the bathroom. Then I could check for hairs and try to pull them out with my fingers if necessary. But won’t it look weird to leap out of his arms like that?

While I’m trying to decide what is worse—if I bolted into the bathroom or if he noticed a few nipple hairs—I’ve lost my chance. He’s got my shirt off and is unhooking my bra and … it’s too late. Each hand is caressing a breast now. I don’t dare look down, so I just close my eyes. His hands feel heavenly, touching me with firm, sensuous strokes, his fingers pinching my nipples. I feel that rush of warmth between my legs.

He bends down to kiss my breasts. At least I don’t need to worry about sagging nipples now, because they’re taut and erect, aching for his kisses and light bites. And then … he stands back up and moves a little away from me. I open my eyes to see what he’s doing. He’s looking at me. He’s looking right at my chest, touching as he examines me. He traces my scar with his forefinger. I look at his face to see what he’s thinking, but I can’t really tell. He runs his finger back and forth over my scar and then bends to kiss it. Yes, kisses it, as if it’s something desirable, while his hands cup my breasts, thumbs teasing my nipples. Then his mouth and hands are all over me, and soon I can’t worry about anything anymore—scar, hairs, anything—because I’m lost in the sensations. By the time he raises his head to kiss my mouth again, I’m desperate for more, and I find myself unbuckling his belt and fumbling with his zipper—much bolder than usual. He helps me remove his jeans, and I rub against him. He’s incredibly hard, and I rub his cock through the fabric of his boxers, teasing him.

He slides my pants and underwear down in one move, and I step out of them and pull his boxers down as well. We’re now both standing completely naked, kissing, hands roaming everywhere. I turn our bodies so that my backside is facing that awful mirror. I have a pretty good backside, actually, so I don’t mind if he sees it in the mirror. In fact, I kind of hope he does. With my front pressed into his body, my belly fat is hidden. My nipples aren’t sagging, my scar doesn’t bother him, and pussy lips don’t show when I’m standing up. So this is a pretty good position. The rocking of the train from side to side keeps throwing us slightly off balance, and we cling to each other for support, kissing and caressing.

Suddenly, I hear a key in the cabin door…

Huge thanks to Sharazade for sharing Flaws with us today- I am not exaggerating when I say it is one of my favourite erotic short stories of all time.

If you’d like to buy Transported, it is available from Amazon and all good retailers.

Two Weeks of Tasty Tasters- Day Seven

Today, Day Seven of my Two Weeks of Tasty Tasters, is the last of Week One, and therefore, the final taster that features my own work for a while.

I am stretching my own rules a little today- for taster number seven is the illustrated anthology Immoral Views, which also features mini-novellas from some of my writing friends, KD Grace, Rebecca Bond, Lexie Bay and Lucy Felthouse.

Published together as a paperback, each of our tales has also been released in individual ebook form.

My tale, The Circus, is total BDSM…This circus provides a very different and erotically dark evenings entertainment…there will be NO clowns…

One hundred quid a ticket!

Carrie still couldn’t believe Scott could afford to pay so much to secure her a seat in the small, run-down theatre.  It wasn’t as if she was even guaranteed any action.  Everything was deliberately uncertain.  But then, as he had assured her, that was part of the attraction.

Perspiration was dotting down the back of her neck, and the more Carrie thought, the more she wondered if perhaps she didn’t actually want anything to happen.  That it might be better just to watch, better not to win the lottery that would change her from being a mere observer of events to a prime player in the evening’s entertainment.

Even though the room was packed, every thinly covered velvet seat taken, no one looked at anyone else.  No one regarded their neighbour.  No one gave a friendly smile of greeting as they waited for something to happen.  All eyes were focused towards the stage.  There was a hushed buzz to the neglected theatre, as if the ghosts of a thousand performances had been trapped within the walls.

In the centre of the stage sat a collection of left over props from dramas long past.  At first glance it appeared to be merely abandoned clutter, but as Carrie examined the items more shrewdly, she began to suspect that everything had been carefully and cleverly placed.

An oak coffee table and bench supported two legs of an iron-framed double-bed, which was devoid of either linen or mattress.  Next to the sloping bed, heaped to the left side, a pile of old wooden chairs were haphazardly stacked.  On the opposite side was a fallen umbrella stand, apparently tipped over by the weight of the walking sticks, canes, and what Carrie suspected were Victorian style shooting sticks.  She felt her pulse quicken.  You didn’t have to be Einstein to work out what that lot could be used for.

Carrie could feel the heat of her skin prickle beneath her chestnut ponytail.  She sat wishing that Scott hadn’t been called away on yet another dire work-related emergency, and that he could be there with her.  More than a little self-conscious, she fidgeted with her outfit.  Playing safe, she’d decided to wear black.  Black thigh length boots, black pleated mini skirt, black stockings, and a black chest hugging lace-up basque, with strings that only just managed to conceal the pale freckled chest over which it had been stretched.  She knew she looked like a slutty walking cliché.  But then again, in this place, at this time, that was entirely the point.

The unnervingly tinny music that had been droning from a speaker in the far corner of the room abruptly stopped.  Carrie could feel the tension in the theatre double, and for the first time she allowed herself a fleeting survey of the other members of the audience.  The competition.  An almost even split of about sixty men and women, all dressed as either Dominants or Submissives, all aged between about twenty-five and forty-five.  The room rippled with erotic anticipation.

When Scott had told her about The Circus, the new show that had taken over the city’s long empty theatre, Carrie had thought it really was a circus.  A family show with clowns, scantily clad acrobats, and the odd juggler.  She had, to his amusement, waxed lyrical about how much she’d loved the circus as a child.  She was soon disabused of her naivety.

Increasingly aware of the clammy sheen of nerves on her palms, Carrie still wasn’t quite sure how Scott had talked her into coming here without him.  But her curiosity had gotten the better of her, just like he’d known it would.  He had insisted that, with her private personal preferences, she would be in her element having her bum smacked in front of a select group of eroticists.  Carrie wasn’t so sure.  Having her ass roundly whipped by Scott in the sanctity of her flat while he ordered her to crawl around the floor was one thing — but this was different.  This was voyeurism on speed.  The almost animal gleam to her lover’s eyes however, when he told her how much he was looking forward to a blow-by-blow account of her experience, added an extra dimension to the tingle of fearful anticipation that played in her stomach.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” a gravelly masculine voice bellowed over a speaker system that crackled from the effects of dust and lack of use.  “Welcome to The Circus.  I would ask you all to abide by your hosts decisions, and only mount the stage if and when you are invited to do so.  Sit back and enjoy.  It’s show time!!…”

Buy Links- Immoral Views is available as a paperback or e-book from Amazon, and all good retailers.

The Circus is available as an individual e-book from Waterstones, Amazon, and all good e-retailers.

Two Weeks of Tasty Tasters- Day Six

Day Six of my Two Weeks of Tasty Tasters!

Today I am bringing you half of a long story from my Fem Dom anthology Yes Ma’am (Xcite).

This collection is what many think of as pure Kay Jaybee - that is to say – the six stories within Yes Ma’am are of the S&M/BDSM genre. As you can imagine, this book was tremendous fun to write…

Here’s a bit of an appetite whetter from the tale entitled Dear Claire….

Dear Claire

She was sure they were having sex. The tell tale bumps and thumps, not to mention the heavy duty groans coming through the thin bedroom walls, had been driving Ali mad for at least half an hour.

Having been invited by Claire for a girlie chat and sleepover, Ali was incensed that Rick had crashed their private party before it had even got started. It doesn’t help, Ali thought as she gave up trying to drown out the muted sounds from the neighbouring room with her pillow, that I’ve had the serious hots for my best friends’ partner for months now.

Escaping to the bathroom, Ali took her time getting showered and dressed. She was surprised to find that when she headed into the kitchen twenty minutes later, Claire was already there, fully dressed, and slipping on her coat and shoes.

‘I’m popping out to grab some stuff for breakfast. Could you be an angel and take Rick a coffee in bed?’

Without giving Ali time to reply, Claire disappeared into the early morning drizzle, leaving her friend with her palm frozen on top of the kettle. The last thing she needed was to see Rick all relaxed and rumpled from sex in someone else’s bed.

Rather than sorting the coffee, Ali left the kitchen, and banged hard on Claire’s bedroom door, ‘The coffee will be in the kitchen Rick.’

Ali hadn’t expected much more than a grunted reply. After all, Rick wasn’t one of life’s communicators. Even Claire agreed that he was only really useful for sex and unscrewing particularly tight jar lids. Yet, the silence from beyond the door was almost eerie. There should have at least been the muffled noises of him shuffling about the bed, or moving around the room hunting down his socks.

A ripple of uncertainty shot through Ali as she stood there. Claire had told her to take the coffee in to him, and now she thought about it, the request had been rather definite. Almost an order. With a final call of, ‘Rick! Do you want coffee?’ Ali inched the door ajar as she repeated her knock.

The reason for Rick’s lack of response was immediately apparent. Ali’s mouth slammed shut. She didn’t know where to look first. All she could think, as she hovered immobilised in the doorway, her eyes roaming with pussy clenching leisure over Rick’s tied frame, was that Claire had intended her to find him like this. She evidently had more in common with her friend than she’d previously thought.

Rick was stood side on to the end of the bed; his legs positioned about half a metre apart. A solid metal shackle, fastened to the leg of the bed frame, surrounded and connected each ankle. He was effectively pinioned to the spot.

His arms were secured behind his back with a pair of leather cuffs, and his dangerous brown eyes were hidden beneath a heavily padded strip of black material, which also covered his ears. Ali realised that he hadn’t even heard her calls. And even if he had been able to hear her, the hard ball gag wedged between his teeth would have prevented him from responding.

With heart pounding disbelief, almost on tiptoe, Ali walked towards the man who haunted her dreams, not sure whether to visit his front or back view first. She opted for his rear.

Her surprise at finding Rick bound and helpless paled into insignificance compared to the shock of what her emerald green eyes spied as she observed his tight arse. On the right buttock, tattooed in tiny neat red script, were the words ‘If I don’t obey my mistress, I will suffer.’

The evidence of this suffering was obvious. Across his butt cheeks and the top of his legs, old welds and bruises littered his skin. An image of Claire bedecked in black leather entered her mind. It wasn’t difficult to picture her whipping her lover for a whole host of unknown crimes.

Reaching out a hand, Ali hovered it in front of his scarred flesh. Her damp knickered desire at odds with the fact that she was about to touch her friends lover. Yet, Claire had set this up. The more Ali thought about it, the more she knew it was okay, and the idea that Rick might not know it was her, only increased her body’s nervous frisson. In fact, until she touched him, he wouldn’t know anyone was with him at all.

Reverently tracing the healing line of a past lash, Ali experienced a rush of adrenalin fuelled pleasure run down her spine and tickle her snatch.

Aware that he was not alone, Rick’s head twisted left and right, his senses straining to work out where his unseen companion was. Ignoring his flailing, Ali knelt as close as possible to the tattoo. Inhaling the aroma of masculinity, her sharp turquoise fingernails followed the loops of calligraphy.

From her crouched position, Ali could see Rick’s balls. Passing a hand through his rigidly immobile legs, she teased his scrotum, enjoying the increased tensing of his leg muscles. Suddenly her fingers met a new and unexpected texture.

Moving around him quickly, Ali found herself facing the most solid dick she’d ever seen in her life, all neatly done up in a bright red ribbon. Two small silver keys were attached to either end of the garland, both presumably corresponding to the locks at his ankles and wrists. Ali’s final doubts about betraying Claire dissolved in an instant. The bow adorning his shaft was presenting Rick as if he was a gift.

Without wasting time wondering how her friend had worked out she fancied Rick, Ali began to act. Her tits felt so swollen that she just had to undo her bra. Threading it from beneath her shirt, leaving the cotton fabric flapping open over her breasts, she stalked around the room, studying the three sides of Rick she could easily get to.

Placing the flat of both palms on his chest, Ali inhaled the particularly salty sweat and desire dripping scent of the trapped male. Sliding her hands downwards, she made sure her nails scraped his flesh. Rick’s feet twitched a little, and his wrists rattled against the short chain that joined the leather cuffs. Ali wondered what he was thinking, and if Claire had told him she’d be coming to visit him. Something told Ali that he didn’t know, and to hold back from revealing her presence; to have some anonymous fun while she could. She had total freedom, and suddenly the months and longing to spank this guy until he begged her to stop was too much.

Turning to the mess on the desk in the corner of Claire’s bedroom, Ali picked up a ruler, and without hesitation, began to swipe it against Rick’s buttocks, paying particular attention to the tattoo, aiming one hit at a time at each of the individual letters.

Swaying with every strike, Rick’s feet stayed planted against the plush red carpet, as fresh pink blotches spread across his buttocks.

Pausing for breath, Ali listened to the faint murmurs of sound escaping from the corners of Rick’s mouth. Returning to his front, she licked away the saliva that had gathered around the rubber guardian. Her right hand snaked down Rick’s front; fingertips lingered above his naval for a second, before Ali tugged at one end of the ribbon, releasing his cock from its tight knot.

Ensuring that the satin fabric caressed his skin, she snaked it up his body, tying the ribbon and keys loosely round his neck for safe keeping. Then, knowing she couldn’t get what she most wanted while his mouth was muzzled, Ali undid the ball gag and cast it to one side.

Gasping and spluttering, Rick’s tongue swept over his dry lips. Quickly, Ali placed her index finger firmly over his mouth, her intention that he shouldn’t talk very clear. Then, she pushed his shoulders forward. With his arms secure behind his back, and his legs stuck, there was no way he could kneel down, but he could bend forward, which he did.

Hastily divesting herself of her trousers, so she was just stood in her knickers and open shirt, Ali pulled her belt from her jeans. A new hot pulse of power surged through her as the first strike met the top of his thighs, and a bellow of pain exploded from his mouth. It had been way too long since she’d treated a man like this. She felt high and all powerful, an empress of debauchery. Her pussy twitched and contracted with the moans and groans that issued from his mouth. Seeing a strong man hogtied was one thing, but hearing how much she was hurting him was what did it for Ali.

Her eyes kept straying to the tattoo. It fascinated her. She wondered if Claire had ordered its addition to his fit body, or if it was a delicious remnant of a previous relationship.

Stepping away from him, leaving Rick uncomfortably bent double, his strong stomach muscles working overtime, Ali searched Claire’s desk once more.

Smiling with satisfaction, she twirled the pen she’d found like a weapon. Levering Rick back upright, Ali bought the black biro to his left bicep. Pressing hard, so he was aware of every stroke of the pen, she began to write,

Dear Claire,

Thank you for your thoughtful gift. I guess you know me even better than I thought you did.

Love Ali

Breaking off with a viciously applied full stop, she briefly admired her work, before moving on to Rick’s thigh.

Dear Claire,

I have long dreamed of torturing your lover. I love the tattoo and previous whip marks. I hope you don’t mind the additions I’m about to make.

Love Ali

Again she pushed the pen nib hard, watching as Rick’s toned skin darkened with the pressure of her writing. With each dotted ‘i’ and each crossed ‘t’ Rick flinched and sighed, his confined reactions adding to her own arousal.

Moving to his annoying perfect six pack; Ali began to write once again.

Dear Claire,

Do you favour a whip or a cane?

Love Ali

Dear Claire,

Your lover’s dick is gorgeous

Love Ali

Dear Claire,

I have already tanned his arse. Now I’m going to smack his balls. I’m going to scratch his skin, I’m going to force my tit into his mouth and make him suck until he begs…

Ali wrote on and on, listing all the fantasies she’d ever had, every image that had inspired her midnight dreams. Then, when there was no clear skin left on his torso, Ali progressed to his back. Finally, when no bare skin remained north of his waist, she threw the pen to one side, and breathlessly returned to Claire’s bedside chest of drawers, convinced that would be where she’d find what she wanted to play with next. She was not disappointed.

Picking the short white cane from a tangle of her friend’s silky underwear, Ali trailed it through her fingers…

If you would like to find out what happens next, or discover what other Fem Dom tales are tucked away inside Yes Ma’am’s e-pages, it is available from Xcite, Amazon, and all good e-retailers