Kay Jaybee's Blog, page 15
August 4, 2020
Bondseque
WARNING. Some rather bad innuendos are coming your way…
Many moons ago, when struggling to break through in writing, my then partner looked at my dream job and took it in hand to blow some inspiration into me, and thus she thrust ten inches of astonishment into my face; a newspaper article on how a novelist was finding more sales and fulfillment as an erotic writer than as a “serious” author. (Not that I’m saying writing erotica, isn’t being a series writer!!)
“Why don’t you have a go?” demanded the now-ex, knowing my work was flaccid, my determination limp and my work-ethic shrivelled, for I had been getting nowhere with mainstream writing and was therefore experiencing enormous difficulty in keeping it up.
I decided to have a go and was soon producing a steady drip of novella-length fantasy erotica which did actually sell a few copies. While modesty (and reality) forbids me from claiming I was enormous, I did have more success than hitherto, with readers gulping down the seeds of my modest pen. Is this going anywhere, you may ask? Or have I already finished while you were distracted by that new crack on the ceiling?
Well, after this frenzied activity, I was spent; my quill burnt out, my inspiration dried, the great throbbing rocket of my work toppled and refusing to go off. And so it remained until the present lock down, when I was furloughed and twiddling my body parts (thumbs, just in case you needed clarification). Having edited three works in progress, I needed something else to do, and I suddenly remembered I’d started an erotica years ago which never reached any sort of climax.
This one was a bit different. My previous work was all quite straight, and rather humourless. This one was a ridiculous over-the-top Carry On style Bond spoof. With bonking. Lots and lots of comedy bonking. In villainous lairs, in aeroplanes and under giant lasers. The story featured twosomes, threesomes, and about twenty-sixsomes.
The humour is silly, the puns awful, the scenarios deliberately laboured and the whole thing was contrived beyond all reason. I got it out, dusted it down, breathed on it, polished it, stiffened it up and finally thrust it up Amazon Kindle. And then did it twice more to make a trilogy, damn-near straining my wrist into the bargain. (What with all the added typing).
And here it is. The fruit of my literary loins. A thoroughly silly-sexy-Bondesque-spoof-type thing running to a rather brisk 10,000 words. With mutated snapping turtles, a space-faring flatulent monkey, a giant laser, a glamorous secret agent in the person of Agent 69, Juno Keswick, and a sexually inadequate villain promising death to the world. And the name of this literary masterpiece?
Doctor Blow.
By More.
Roger More.
Roger Much More.
And all for the price of 78 British pence. (That’s 99 cents, for US readers).
What more could you ask for?
Apart from (obviously) plot, character, suspense and higher literary meaning?
So, why not grab a coffee, grab a copy of the book, and have a giggle for an hour or so during these odd times?
Keep on rogering.
Roger.
Extract:
Juno Keswick, A.U.N.T Agent 69, unaware of the crisis engulfing the planet, was at that moment on a fairly routine mission. She was trapped in the secret lair of a megalomaniac super-villain who had suspended her upside down over a poisonous rock pool in which mutated snapping turtles swam in lazy circles, waiting for their dinner to be lowered down to them.
It was a good life, being the mutated snapping turtle of a megalomaniac villain. True, they had to wait some time for each meal to be lowered as their insane creator, Professor Havelock, liked to gloat over his victims, but the turtles had learned patience.
It was true also that the morality of consuming anyone who transgressed against the professor was a grey area at best, but when all was said and done, the turtles were on three square meals a day and had a nice pool to swim in. Against such luxury, morality was simply an inconvenience.
“Now, Miss Keswick,” called the professor from the control board of the mini crane that clasped Juno’s boots, holding her over the bubbling surface of the pool. “Do you now regret your desire to interfere in my plans?”
“Hardly a desire, professor,” drawled Juno as she swung gently back and forth. “It’s what I was trained to do.”
“Ah, yes, for glory and honour, queen and country,” sneered the professor. “And see where that has got you. Suspended over the pit of turtle doom!”
“It’s an occupational hazard.”
“Pah! Foolish girl. What did you think you could achieve against me? What can you do, suspended over the pit of turtle doom, when I hold your handbag with all your secret gadgets?
“The lipstick which turns into a laser,” continued the professor. “The mirror which doubles as a communicator; the pen which turns into a missile; the strange wand stamped as a Big Boy Mark 4 and with settings ranging from “Titillate” to “Oh my God Yes” which I haven’t quite worked out, as yet, though my laboratory will reveal all under analysis?”
“That last one’s not actually a weapon, and I don’t appreciate you getting your grubby fingerprints all over it,” observed Juno, her hands casually clasping the hem of her short silver dress to preserve her modesty. “And you forgot the compact,”
“What of the compact?”
“Oh, haven’t you worked that one out yet? I’m not surprised; it is quite complicated.”
“Complicated?” echoed the professor, pulling the tortoiseshell compact from the bag. “It’s a standard compact with a garrotting wire wrapped in the edge, a small tracker built into the upper lid and fake face powder which is in fact a powerful narcotic. There is no mystery here.”
“You have neglected the final surprise.”
“Oh, you mean the explosive charge hidden under the powder? I assure you, my dear, I have been very careful in not pressing the secret button moulded into the bottom of the case.”
“And therein lies your mistake.”
The professor frowned, angry at the implication he had missed something. “What mistake?”
“The secret button doesn’t activate the explosive charge. It deactivates it. If you hold the compact for longer than one minute without pressing the button, the charge will ignite. Right about now!”
The professor yelled as the compact exploded in his hand, spraying narcotic powder into his face. He staggered around in a strange semi-circle which rather improbably took him around the crane and up to the very edge of the turtle pool of death. He coughed and raged feebly as the narcotic seeped into his system, sending him into a deep sleep.
“No, this cannot be,” he slurred as his body hovered over the edge of the pool, one foot suspended over the swirling water. “Oh, the unforeseen irony, that after dumping so many of my enemies in here, I too should contrive to fall into my very own pit of zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.” With a huge snore, the professor tumbled forward into the pit.
Twitter: https://twitter.com/RogerMuch
Bio
“Roger Much More is known the world over as a top secret spy in a safari suit. But don’t tell anyone. It’s a secret…”
***
Many thanks Roger – happy blowing xx
July 30, 2020
Something for the Weekend: Not Her Type
It’s time to enjoy some weekend smut.
This week I’m sharing the beginning of my hot delivery man erotica,
Not Her Type: Erotic Adventures of a Delivery Man
(copyright- Kay Jaybee and 1001NightsPress)
Tuesday – It Begins
What the hell am I doing? I’m a good girl; I just don’t do things like this.
A tiny fraction of Jenny’s conscience screamed at her. The remainder of her brain sent her hands on a thorough exploration of the densely haired chest that had unexpectedly appeared from beneath her companion’s polo-shirt. The fact that Jenny had never liked men with hairy chests seemed irrelevant.
Standing in front of her, diving a hand under Jenny’s top, John squeezed her left nipple hard, wonderfully hard, making her squeal with pain-tingling gratification. Removing her shirt at top speed, John freed her breasts from their confinement.
Moving as if on auto-pilot, Jenny’s fingers visited his trousers’ waistband, but in her haste she couldn’t get his belt undone. Rescuing her from her embarrassment with a smile, John mumbled something about it always being difficult to open and undid it himself. Jenny barely heard him as a neat pair of charcoal grey boxers appeared, swiftly followed by—Oh My God—the most beautiful dick she had seen in years, perhaps ever.
As she knelt before him, the voice in Jenny’s head continued its rant, reminding her that she hated giving blowjobs. Since her first experience as a college student, she had neither liked the taste of cock, nor the sensation of being gagged. Now however, working on instincts she never knew she had, Jenny took John deep within her throat. She felt his fingers drag urgently through her knotty, brown hair, raking her scalp as she greedily worked him around her mouth.
“Hell girl, have you any idea how often I’ve dreamt of you doing this?” John confessed. “Night after night I wank about you, about you holding me in your throat like this.”
Jenny was consumed with a perverse pride as she listened to John’s words—making her wonder if she should admit to the stolen moments she’d spent alone with a silver vibrator and her own filthy imaginings. Imaginings contrary to her normal fantasies; fantasies that often featured him.
His penis felt fantastic in her mouth, but the restless ache in Jenny’s pussy was becoming unbearable, and she pulled away, panting. The instant she let go of his shaft, John tugged her back to her feet and grasped her butt, kneading it in a way that would give her bruises for days to come, while kissing her as if his life depended on it.
Conveniently forgetting that she didn’t like the feel of stubble against her skin, Jenny relished the burn of his unshaven face grazing her, scraping her cheeks as their lips and teeth clashed together.
Her head buzzed, and her nipples were tickled by his chest hairs, and Jenny began to feel as if she were overdosing on desire. She badly wanted to slow everything down but, at the same time, she needed to go faster. She wasn’t far from climax, and the mere idea of their illicit situation was enough to send Jenny to the very edge of orgasm.
Recognizing how close she was, John shoved his customer’s knickers unceremoniously to her ankles. “I want to see you on your hands and knees,” he ordered.
Sinking against the carpet as instructed, Jenny’s breathing snagged as she heard the sharp rip of a condom packet being opened. Seconds later, Jenny found her courier’s thick cock sliding into her from behind. She was about to tell him how fantastically full she felt when John wiped all coherent thought from Jenny’s head by jamming his thumb up her arse.
Nuzzling his mouth against Jenny’s neck, John thrust against her, holding her hips as they frantically moved together. Trembling, Jenny’s knees began to buckle, and her elbows quaked. Seeing she was about to collapse to the floor, John eased out of her body, and flipped her onto her back, before plunging his dick inside her again. She clung onto his tattooed arms (ignoring her lifelong aversion to body art), relishing in the glorious warmth of her orgasm, as he shot his spunk into her naked body.
As soon as their breathing levels returned to normal, John knelt close to Jenny, teasing out the springy curls of her hair as he spoke, “I’m sorry Jen. I don’t like just walking out on you, but I have to go. I’m behind with my rounds.” Jenny watched her courier dress with lightning speed, leaving in a flurry of promises and assurances that he’d return the following week.
The living room seemed so large, so empty once John’s bulky frame had gone. Stunned and disheveled, Jenny stared at the space around her as delayed shock kicked in.
How the hell had that happened?
It had been years since Jenny had had sex. Twelve years, in fact; if you discounted one brief and unsatisfactory encounter that occurred three years ago. That was four thousand, three hundred, and eighty days of a self-imposed embargo after one-too-many broken hearts. She had survived by surrounding herself with friends, reading hundreds of erotica books, and giving in to countless masturbation sessions. But now, out of nowhere, right in the middle of her lounge, , when she should have been sitting at her little desk checking other peoples’ accounts, she’d been thoroughly and expertly fucked.
Standing perfectly motionless, and very aware of her pulse pounding against her chest in the eerie quiet, Jenny tried to figure out what on earth had just happened. How their usual coffee break, with each of them sitting on either side of her dining table, had developed into a semi-naked romp on the sofa.
John had been in her home for only thirty minutes, and twenty of those had been spent discussing the DVDs that he’d come to deliver, just as he did every Tuesday. Then, he’d said something about how much he enjoyed their weekly chats, how hers was the only home where he was received as a friend, and how he always felt strange leaving her without so much as a hug.
Thinking back, trying to make sense of it all, Jenny thought that perhaps she’d laughed nervously when he’d said that, and told him she’d liked their “putting the world to rights” time as well.
That was when he’d actually hugged her for real, and she’d looked up into his wide, dark brown eyes and, in all of her thirty-three years, she had never felt a twist of lust like the one she felt then. It had burnt into her like some sort of erotic radiation.
How did I not see that coming? How bloody naive have I become? Jenny wondered. Shit, I don’t even know if he’s single…It’s been so long since I had a quick fuck. Too long…Hell, now I want another one, and soon. Damn.
Running upstairs to her bedroom, Jenny stripped off her hastily donned clothes and stared critically into the full-length mirror. Do I look different? No, my arms are still a touch too flabby, my backside a little too big, and my skin too pale.
She felt different though. A bit like the girl she used to be, when she’d been a student. When she’d been braver.
As Jenny carried on staring at her reflection, she allowed her hands to trace the outline of her body, a body that was already infused with the heady aftershocks of being totally seen to. Flashbacks of her past assailed her. Things she’d consigned to the back of her mind and nailed up into a little box, never to be opened again—parts of her life that she had long since given up on.
Losing all concept of time as she stood there, naked, still able to feel the mark of his fingers on her flesh, Jenny shook her head, trying to dismiss the memories that her body’s unscheduled reawakening had brought to the surface. She wondered just how many customers John had seduced with those dangerous eyes. How many other sets of fingertips had tripped lightly over the Japanese-styled characters tattooed on his muscular arms?
“Let’s face it,” she spoke sternly to her reflection, “that was just a one-off. Next week he’ll just want a quick coffee as usual.” Doing her best to pull herself together, Jenny unhooked her wrap from the back of her bedroom door. Heading to the shower, her wits were a tattered mass of contradictions—the elation she felt from the astounding sex was at odds with the very clear proclamation that was niggling at the back of her head. Jenny honey, he just isn’t your type. He isn’t even close!
***
If you want to know what happens next (and I can promise you one hell of a kinky ride), you can buy Not Her Type in either eBook or paperback form from….
Links-
1001 NightsPress- http://1001nightspress.com/#!/page_KayJaybee
Happy reading!!
Kay
July 23, 2020
Something for the Weekend: The Perfect Submissive Box Set
Something for the weekend?
I thought I’d share a little from my BDSM novel series, The Perfect Submissive today ( made up of The Fifth Floor , The Retreat and Knowing Her Place )
Why have one book, when you can have three for the price of two large coffees?
Blurb
Hidden behind the respectable façade of the Fables Hotel in Oxfordshire, five specially adapted rooms await visitors to the fifth floor. Here, Mrs Peters is mistress of an adult entertainment facility pandering to the kinky requirements of its guests. When she meets Jess Sanders, she recognises the young woman’s potential as a deliciously meek addition to her specialist staff. All it will take is a little education.
Under the tutelage of dominatrix, Miss Sarah, Jess learns to cope with an erotically demanding training schedule and a truly sexy exercise regime. But will she come to terms with her new career?
Meanwhile, Mrs Peters is temporarily distracted from her intimidating rule over Fables’ fifth floor by artist, Sam Wheeler – who she believes can help her in her mission to transform Jess into the perfect submissive…
In the following extract, Miss Jess Sanders has been working at the Fables Hotel for a few days now, and has been introduced to the pseudo school room. We join the action were the poor girl has been tied to an art table for what seems like hours, and now, at last, physical relief has arrived…
‘Master Philips, this is Miss Jess Sanders, the new administration clerk, and soon, well … let’s just say, I have high hopes for this young lady.’
Jess’s brain galloped off at a number of conflicting tangents as Lee nodded in evident understanding. An understanding Jess certainly did not share. What high hopes?
‘While you were lying here enjoying yourself, Miss Sanders, Master Philips here, has proffered me a great service.’
Jess said nothing, her eyes trained on the white tabletop before her, not wanting to see the predatory look of either of the people who towered over her. She could feel the sexual tension rising in the stale air of the room, and her body tingled.
Daring another glance at the young man, Jess took in the short dark hair, the slim body, the midnight blue eyes, and the unmistakable bulge of a hard cock beneath his suit trousers, which made her pussy give an involuntary spasm against the brush.
‘As you can see, Master Philip, Miss Sanders has been corked with one of the heftier classrooms paintbrushes. Just a little something to keep that untutored body amused in my absence.’
Jess closed her eyes as she heard Mrs Peters talking about her as if she was a mere thing, a toy to be played with. The idea appalled her, and yet, somehow the thought that they could do whatever they liked to her, sent another shot of desire through her abused frame, confusing her further.
Lee said nothing, but watched as Mrs Peters’ hand went towards the bristles that extruded from the girl’s cunt. Jess groaned as it was abruptly pulled out, leaving her pussy emptier than ever.
Sardonically observing Lee’s aroused state, the manageress asked him, ‘Would you like your dick to replace the brush handle for Miss Sanders? I’m sure that right now she is feeling particularly in need of filling, and I know you have a cock worthy of the job.’
Without raising his head, Lee replied, ‘Thank you Mrs Peters, I would.’
‘Then assist me.’
Swiftly Jess’s bindings were untied. It felt strange to be free, and the clerk’s shoulders cracked as she moved, flexing her arms and legs to get her blood circulating again. Jess wasn’t allowed her freedom for long however, as Mrs Peters yanked her arms sharply behind her back, re-tying her wrists, and shoving her into the larger and more comfortable teacher’s chair, her butt on the very edge of the seat, her legs spread.
‘As you are aware, Master Philips, I consider patience one of life’s greatest virtues, a lesson I think, by the look of desperation that is shining so blatantly in Miss Sanders’ eyes, it is high time she learnt.’
‘Yes Mrs Peters.’ Lee deflated slightly as he realised he would have to wait a little longer for his reward, but felt better when Laura passed him the paintbrush, knowing precisely what he was supposed to do with it.
Jess, her eyes wide, her throat drier than ever, watched as Lee ran the brush’s soft bristles between his fingers. Kneeling before Jess, he placed the tip of the paintbrush on the very end of her right nipple. Gasping with shock at the sensitivity of the touch, Jess began to shiver against the sweeping strokes Lee focused on her breast.
‘I must congratulate you, Master Philips.’ Mrs Peters spoke with approval. ‘You have an excellent technique there, arousing, and stimulating, without being quite enough to make your subject come.’
Jess groaned. Why wouldn’t they let her come? As the deliciously torturous brush moved onto her left tit, tears of desire and frustration gathered at the corner of her eyes. She knew she was minutes away from begging. Begging to be fucked, begging to be allowed to come; begging for a warm mouth to come to her pussy, her chest, her mouth.
Her quivers turned to shakes as her stomach knotted with the build up of a fast approaching climax.
A gesture from Laura and Lee dropped the brush, causing tears of desperation to course down Jess’s cheeks. ‘Now, Miss Sanders, you have to learn to pace yourself. This is as much for our enjoyment as yours, and we are not ready to let you come yet.’
Blinking in disbelief at her superior’s words, Jess felt the tears dry against her face, as once again the brush was employed by Lee, this time along her tethered arms, her unsteady legs and her taut stomach. Concentrating hard on not pleading for more direct attention, Jess tried to ignore the growing ache between her legs, and the increasingly obvious presence of Lee’s erection.
Jess’s persistent moans turned to helpless whimpers as Mrs Peters finally broke the tension, ‘You may remove your clothes, Lee.’
The young man moved with uncaring speed and Jess gulped as she saw the neatly circumcised penis that was pointing at her hungrily, slide into the waiting rubber.
Ordered to sit up straight, Jess obeyed as the barman gratefully sank his length into Jess’s slick snatch. Their mutual sighs of relief made Mrs Peters issue a sharp sneering laugh, ‘So young and so desperate.’
Picking up the brush, the manageress began to stroke the cream bristles back over Jess’s tormented nipples, as Lee heaved against her, slapping his backside and balls against her in his urgency to come.
Jess screamed out her climax, her body rocking in shocked pent up pleasure.
As Jess slumped against the barman, Mrs Peters dropped the brush to the floor. ‘You see, Miss Sanders, some things are so much better if they are promised, but withheld for a while. If you are made to wait, you appreciate things all the more. Don’t you think?’
‘Yes, Mrs Peters.’ Jess spoke automatically through breathless lips. There really wasn’t anything else she could say…
****
eBooks
US Kindle- https://www.amazon.com/dp/B077XW59P2?ref_=pe_2427780_160035660
Canada Kindle- https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B077XW59P2/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1512491682&sr=1-1&keywords=The+Fifth+Floor+Kay+jaybee
Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/765157
B&N – ebook – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-fifth-floor-kay-jaybee/1127595291?ean=2940154644478
Paperbacks
Happy reading everyone,
Kay xxxx
July 19, 2020
#New Release! Through the Lens by @AdrianaKraft #EroticRomance #Menage #MFRWAuthor
#New Release! Through the Lens by @AdrianaKraft #EroticRomance #Menage #MFRWAuthor
About Our Story
Does your family history contain scandal? Ours does, as recently as my mother’s grandfather, who was born a bastard in an era when that status carried far more stigma than now. His mother – a logger’s daughter who served as a camp cook – was shunned and shamed for much of her life. On the other side, my husband’s grandfather was a bigamist. A threshing crew foreman in the early 1900s, he married and had children in Missouri, then married again in Kansas. My husband’s grandmother divorced him when she learned of the other family; their son, my husband’s father, was ten years old.
We blessed—or perhaps cursed—our Through the Lens heroine with elements of these scandals. Naturally, she’s heard some of the stories. Through the Lens chronicles her struggle with these long-forgotten roots. Will she claim them, or run the other way?
Blurb
Prairie roots can be deceptive. Will Ellen Jeffers cling to the sedate past that’s familiar, or will she embrace a different version of her history—one that includes tragedy, scandal, fortitude, and freedom?
It’s 2002, and South Dakota third grade teacher Ellen Jeffers has signed up for a photography summer course and assistantship at an art academy in Minneapolis. Thirty-three, divorced for nearly a decade from her college boyfriend, she’s not seeking major change. She just hopes the course will enhance her teaching skills and her resume.
Aaron Brewster comes from privilege, and he has used that status to flaunt his family’s values and carve out a successful career as a photographer specializing in black and white erotic portraiture. Has he ever loved? His love is for beauty, sensuality, eroticism. His new uptight teaching assistant will never fit that vision. Should he send her packing? For reasons he cannot fathom, he takes her on as a challenge.
Aaron’s frontal assault shocks Ellen, but it also triggers something deep inside she’s never been willing to acknowledge. Is her beloved prairie a safe refuge, or will it become a crucible for transformation? The choice is not merely Ellen’s.
Buy Links
Amazon https://www.amazon.com/Through-Lens-Adriana-Kraft-ebook/dp/B08BZXMNNW/
Barnes & Noble https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/through-the-lens-adriana-kraft/1137261501?ean=2940164557683
Kobo https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/through-the-lens-5
Extasy https://www.extasybooks.com/978-1-4874-2955-3-through-the-lens/
GoodReads https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/54475455-through-the-lens
Reviews and Endorsements for Adriana Kraft Books
Wow, what an incredible book! Not only is The Merry Widow a gripping, romantic suspense but the heat level is hotter than Death Valley… The ending took me by surprise and I was a little sad to see it end. I grew attached to the characters and wanted to stay in their world a little bit longer. The Merry Widow will be on my keeper shelf and one I will be re-reading again and again. Highly recommend! N. N. Light
Their romance is hot in all the right places…If you love romance with more than two people, you’re going to love this book! Seducing Cat is a must read! The TBR Pile
Filled with warmth, blazing hot sex, well-developed characters and an interesting plot…not for the faint of heart. If you are looking for an interesting story filled with scorching hot erotica, author Adriana Kraft’s novel Vegas Gambler is the book for you. Romance Junkies
Ms. Kraft has a gift for pleasing the reader with vivid imagery and erotic language. Fasten your seat belts – Cherry Tune-Up is one hot ride that you don’t want to miss. Romance Junkies
Definitely recommended The Reunion sizzled as two incredibly sexy women and one gorgeous guy form a super hot triad, eventually. These three are by far and away the best smoldering trio I have read about. Oh, bring on more of this, but read this one first! Rainbow Reviews
About Adriana Kraft
When it’s Time to Heat Things Up
Award winning author Adriana Kraft is a married couple writing Sizzling Romantic Suspense and Erotic Romance for Two, Three, or More. Whether readers open our romantic suspense or our erotic romance, they can expect characters they care about, hot sex scenes, and a compelling story. Our suspense stories deliver one man, one woman, danger and intrigue. Our erotic romance is edgier and nearly always includes ménage or polyamory, sometimes with two women and a man, sometimes with two (or more) couples. We write our Erotic Romance stories to entertain, of course, but most of all we write them because we believe in happy endings for all who fall in love, whatever their gender, sexual orientation or numerical combination.
Social Media Links
Website: https://adrianakraft.com
Blog: https://www.adrianakraft.com/blog
Newsletter: free download of our erotic romance novella Cherry Tune-Up for signing up.
Twitter https://twitter.com/AdrianaKraft
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/adriana.kraft.5
FaceBook Fan Page https://www.facebook.com/AdrianaKraftAuthor
Amazon Author Page https://www.amazon.com/author/adrianakraft
GoodReads https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1578571.Adriana_Kraft
Pinterest https://www.pinterest.com/adrianakraft5/
Instagram https://www.instagram.com/kraftadriana/
BookBub https://www.bookbub.com/authors/adriana-kraft
Excerpt
Fixing his gaze on the rather stoic woman sitting across from him at the small table in his academy office, Aaron Brewster tried his best to get a good read on her. He’d spent much of his life reading women—their moods and their desires. He’d developed a reputation for being adept at capturing feminine subtleties in black and white.
Ellen Jeffers was one of those rare women who defied immediate description. She vacillated between projecting an air of haughtiness—which he supposed came with being a schoolteacher who seldom believed her audience understood her—to projecting an air of innocence characteristic of a girl from the South Dakota prairie making her way in the unfamiliar big city. And in between those poles, he witnessed prim and proper, mystery, smugness, disdain, awe, shyness, self-censure, and thankfully a spark or two of humor.
If she was going to work with him, he’d have to get her in front of the camera. It was through the camera lens that he could best sort out the nuances of a woman and his own feelings about her. Keeping his smile to himself, he wondered if his summer teaching assistant had ever posed in the nude.
He needed help with his tits-and-ass study, but the way Ellen Jeffers blanched at some of nude pics hanging on his office walls, he wasn’t sure she’d be helpful with that project. He’d take a wait-and-see position about her usefulness. At the very least, he needed an assistant comfortable enough in her own skin to help models prepare themselves for the scrutiny of the camera.
“Do you only do nude portraits?” Ellen asked, glancing quickly from one photo to another and back to him.
“Some subjects are partially clad,” he said dryly. “So does nudity bother you, Ellen? Is it okay if I call you Ellen? Given how close we’ll be working together, first names seem more natural.”
“Of course, please do.”
“And nudity?” He arched an eyebrow. “You are comfortable with nudity, right? You’ve been married. You’ve hung around art students, and you applied to this program.”
“My undergraduate college didn’t allow nude modeling.” She didn’t blink. “I had hoped to expand my knowledge of landscape photography or taking action pictures of children.”
“I see. You’re avoiding my question, but that’s okay. In case you’re wondering, I didn’t select you as my teaching assistant. You were the only person available when I returned from a conference. So if you want to blame someone for your misfortune, blame my colleagues. This is sort of like going on a blind date.” He paused. “I’ve only been on one. I didn’t like it.”
Ellen’s laughter came quick and a little harsh. “At least we can agree on that.” She swallowed. “So I guess it’s safe to assume that you don’t do weddings, family portraits and such.”
He shook his head. He’d love to have a window into the strawberry blonde’s brain as she appeared to check off her options. She didn’t have many, and he knew it. She could go back to South Dakota, but he’d already witnessed her grit. Ellen Jeffers wouldn’t run if she could manage at all.
She smacked her lips. “I haven’t spent much time around nudity”—she gave him a wry smile—”and much of that was in the dark. It may take me a while, but I’m sure I’ll be comfortable enough.”
GIVEAWAY!
Follow this link to enter the release blitz giveaway!!
http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/8b9ec5be194/?
Release blitz organized by Writer Marketing Services .
***
Tags: Erotic Romance, Ménage, Four-Way, Prairie, Photography, Erotic Portraiture
Release Date: June 26, 2020
Publisher: Extasy Books
Genre: Erotic Romance; Ménage
July 17, 2020
Something for the Weekend: Yes Ma’am
For this week’s #somethingfortheweekend, I’m treating you to some #femdom action from Yes Ma’am.
Blurb
Could you write your wildest fantasies on your best friend’s boyfriend, or sell your sexual soul to a woman in black?
Find out how far army cadet, Luke Porter, will go to improve his standing within his regiment, and discover the consequences of losing your temper on London’s Underground in this collection of wrist binding, whip wielding, butt spanking tales of female domination.
Yes Ma’am contains six straight and bi-sexual encounters of the S&M nature.
The six stories, each taking a different take on the FemDom experience, are…
Lying in Wait– Cadet Luke Porter is the least successful army recruit in the squadron. His female counterparts are determined to find out how far Luke will go to improve his standing within the regiment…
Black – He is intoxicated by the woman in black. He can’t explain why he needs to see her or why he willing does precisely what she tells him to…
Dear Claire – Ali has secretly lusted over her best friend’s lover Rick, for a long time. At least, she thought it was a secret…
“Don’t You Emma” – Sitting in an armchair has never been so difficult…
Not Taking the Tube – Venting his frustration at being delayed yet again by London’s Underground system on the nearest official, the harassed businessman finds his complaints aren’t received in quite the way he’d expected…
Rachel’s Twisted Tale – Rapunzel never suffered like this….
***
Here’s an extract from “Don’t You Emma.”
… Lee sat back in the leather armchair. She’d told him that all he had to do to get a damn good fucking was to stay in the chair until she decreed otherwise.
As he watched Daisy move around the living room Lee thought, not for the first time, how inappropriately named she was. The name suggested someone meek, gentle and childlike. It didn’t conjure the image of a tall, fit, fake blonde, who could get her rocks off simply by beating your arse until it glowed purple.
She was clearing the space in front of him. The coffee table had already been repositioned to the side of the chair, and the newspapers that usually lay all over the place had been stacked up. All the cushions he’d thrown off the sofa had been neatly placed back where they belonged.
‘You are going to reward me for watching you clean up?’ Lee was amused by this uncharacteristic fit of tidying.
Daisy gave him a stare that would have chilled a lesser man to the bone, but Lee had known her for a long time and all it did was increase the arousal of her promise to give him a good seeing-to.
‘I don’t believe I said you could talk to me while you were waiting.’
‘Come off it, Daisy. You’re only doing the chores.’
Ignoring him, his partner brushed her hands together, and glancing at the increased floor space across the now uncluttered pale green carpet, left the room.
Lee’s imagination had already moved on to what reward he was going to get for being a good, patient boy. He wondered if he’d have to endure a spanking, or if she’d bind or gag him. Flickers of tense longing played in his stomach and stirred his groin.
Glancing at the clock on the corner of the bookcase, he listened to the quiet tick. It seemed to fill the room as he waited with growing impatience for Daisy’s return. He assumed she was fetching her sex toys, or perhaps changing into something less comfortable. It was with a sense of a surprise and unease, however, that Lee heard the front door open and the sound of muffled voices.
Despite only wearing a red T-shirt and some lightweight black combats, Lee suddenly felt rather hot as Daisy re-entered the lounge with company.
The warning glint in Daisy’s eyes confirmed that Lee should stay precisely where he was, his legs outstretched before him, his arms resting on the chair’s soft padded arms, his mouth shut.
His dark brown eyes moved from his lover to the girl with her. About 25 years old perhaps, with long ginger hair that hung in two perfectly tied pigtails. Slim, but with enough of a curve to catch the eye, her green gaze had a keen, eager to please gleam, that just hinted at mischief.
Lee swallowed very carefully. Daisy hadn’t, had she? Not really? He opened his mouth to ask her if he was right, or if his imagination was running away with him. No sound came out though. He didn’t want to risk her saying he was mistaken and ruining the fantasy that roller-coasted around his lust driven head.
The girl, without taking off either the boots or the long winter coat she wore, even though it was a warm summer’s day, answered his unspoken question, as she lowered her head and knelt on the cleared floor before Daisy; her mistress.
‘Oh my!’ His words were barely audible. Daisy either hadn’t heard them or had dismissed them as unimportant. Lee concentrated very hard on breathing; forcing himself to sit still and not lean forward in the chair…
***
You can find out what happened next within the epages of Yes Ma’am via…
Amazon UK
Amazon US
Amazon AU
Amazon CA
Barnes & Noble
iBooks UK
iBooks US
Kobo
Smashwords
***
Happy reading,
Kay x
July 9, 2020
Something for the weekend: A Kink a Day Book Three
Heavy week at work? Why not sit down (lie down?) and enjoy a moment’s full on kink.
This week I thought I’d share a little from
A Kink a Day – Book Three for #somethingfortheweekend
A Kink a Day – Book Three
From the extreme kink of a wedding at a city S&M club, a deliciously erotic rendition on a double bass, an imaginative take on a set of brushes, and beyond, A Kink a Day Book Three provides eight bite-sized moments of lust-fuelled distraction. One for every day of the week—plus an additional fantasy thrown in to enhance your Saturday morning lie-in.
On Show
As the first of the ties was attached to her ankles, Pippa still wasn’t sure what had broken inside her.
The moment she’d walked through the door to work that evening and seen the spreader board waiting for its next customer, her iron will had caved in. Now, as her body was pushed against the cold wood, it felt more alive than ever before.
Her mind, however, was in terrified freefall. She was about to become part of the image that haunted her, the one that gave her sleepless nights and erotic dreams, that featured so strongly in her head whenever she was having sex; the one she was afraid of, and so utterly and totally turned on by.
The jeering from the crowd which had gathered around Pippa petered into a reverend hush. She could see a queue forming out of the corner of her eye, but she didn’t dare look directly at it. All she could concentrate on was the warm nimble male hands that’d smoothed her skin as they’d stripped her, and were now securing the last of her limbs to the portable x-shaped board, which had been wheeled into the centre of the room.
With her ankles and wrists encased in short metal chains, locked with little room to manoeuvre against the heavy oak frame, Pippa felt vulnerable, sexy, excited, and petrified all at once.
Keeping her green eyes lowered, she moved her wrists a fraction, testing the bonds. Her long ginger hair fell over her eyes. Being unable to sweep it back from her face abruptly bought home just how helpless she was, and her already fast pulse tripled its pace in tense anticipation of what was going to happen to her over the following hour.
The only way to escape from the spreader was to say the password that had been whispered to her when the confinement began. She’d never heard anyone use the escape password, and she was determined not to be the first to wimp out despite the panic swirling in her gut. Pippa kept reminding herself how badly she needed to know what it was like to be the subject of so much erotic attention. She couldn’t see any other way of ending the dreams that plagued her night after night and day after day…
****
You can read the rest of the story in A Kink a Day- Book Three.
Don’t forget you can find all four books from the series here – https://www.smashwords.com/books/byseries/35498
Happy reading
Kay xx
July 5, 2020
SMASHWORDS SALE!
The Smashwords Sale is now on!
Nearly all my ebooks are involved- and they are all HALF PRICE, except for
THE FIFTH FLOOR , which has 75% OFF!!
Grab the complete series of The Perfect Submissive…
… and the entire A Kink a Day series.
Not to mention some sexy word action from The Collector and Wednesday on Thursday & more!
SALE ends 31st July!
Enjoy!
Happy reading,
Kay xx
June 25, 2020
Something for the Weekend: Tied to the Kitchen Sink
If your #weekend is calling out for some seriously kinky reading matter, then why not take peep inside my collection of 3 quickie BDSM romance,
#somethingfortheweekend
BLURB- Will can hardly believe his eyes when he receives the ultimate in birthday gifts. Karen, the girl of his fantasies, has been left tied to his kitchen sinks’ taps, ready to be played with exactly as he chooses. Meanwhile, Becky is having a spank filled first day in her new job, and a BDSM curious male allows himself to be lured into a dominatrix’s layer, by the tempting lyrics of a truly bad poem. Whether bound in ropes or handcuffs, as they are shackled to the bed, kitchen sink, or within the confines of a fetishists supply cupboard, the willing victims of Tied to the Kitchen Sinks’ kinky S&M and BDSM action, find their darkest and sexiest dreams coming true.
There are three short stories tucked within the e-pages of my anthology, Tied to the Kitchen Sink, Becky and The Bad Poet.
It is into the middle story, Becky, which takes place in a very unusual office, where even the most minor mistake is punished, that I’m taking you today.
…It is an unusual cupboard. From floor to ceiling in height, it has an increased depth hidden behind its grey metal doors. The shelves that surrounded the walls are set well back so that at least two people could occupy the remaining space with the doors closed. On every shelf there was a collection of instruments; canes, whips, paddles, nipple clamps. There was all the necessary material to keep a correction freak going for years; ribbons, ropes, cuffs, chains, gags. The more you looked the more your heart froze and your eyes widened. Becky looked. Her face revealed nothing.
Miss Harriet had silently come out of her office. Without a word she stood behind Becky and helped her off with her remaining clothes. She was so beautiful. I realised I hadn’t really looked at Becky properly before. I already wanted to touch; I began to imagine her beating my breasts with a short stick, before soothing them with her tongue.
I came back to reality. Such feelings must not be displayed here. Becky was now just inside the cupboard doors, facing her audience. She seemed to shine. How had she got to this point so quickly? It had taken me many beatings before I had learnt to enjoy it, and even after nearly eighteen months I could never be so open about it. I still have the shame. Maybe I need it.
Becky stared through us as she looked straight ahead. Miss Harriet had taken one of her slim wrists and was tying it to a conveniently placed hook on one of the shelves with a silk cord. Then the other wrist was secured, then the ankles, and finally, a thin silver collar was snapped securely around her neck, its long leather lead dangling provocatively between her breasts.
Miss Harriet stepped out of the cupboard and looked to her boss for approval. He nodded. I could clearly see, when I dared to glance, that his dick was straining against his suit trousers. They shut the doors of the cupboard and we all heard Becky gasp. She had expected pain, arousal. They had given her nothing…
****
If you fancy discovering what that blotting paper was used for, just how awful my poetry can be, and exactly how the kitchen sink was misused, you can buy Tied to the Kitchen Sink at Amazon UK, Amazon.com, and all good e-retailers.
Happy reading!
Kay xx
June 18, 2020
Something for the Weekend: Equipment
For this week’s #somethingfortheweekend, I thought I’d share a little from my erotic romance /BDSM romance collection: Equipment and other stories.
Blurb–
To his lust driven delight, Lee Cooper’s opinion that his girlfriend simply doesn’t have the Equipment to take control in the bedroom is quickly and deliciously.
Meanwhile, Kim is sick of her gorgeous neighbour Jack bringing home a non-stop string of unsuitable women to screw, while completely failing to notice the girl right under his nose. Taking extreme measures she sets out to prove she is more than just The Girl Next Door.
Mark’s girlfriend is Searching For Her– the perfect woman to make her lover’s dreams come true. A quest which leads her into the path of more than one willing young lady…
****
Here’s an little snippet from Equipment to ease you into the weekend…
The moment I saw his naked arse, I knew that I wanted to fuck it, and I told him so. It was the first time I’d seen Lee Cooper unsure of himself. For a split second a veil of uncertainty, possibly even fear, had crossed his generally ultra-confident square features. It didn’t last though, and he was soon shrugging my statement off with a lad-ish laugh, ‘you ain’t got the equipment baby,’ as he eased his solid cock into my willing body.
I started working part-time at the garage, where Lee is employed as a mechanic, three months ago. The first thing he said to me, as his clear brown eyes appraised my slight frame and red plaited hair was, ‘I’m looking forward to pulling on those pigtails honey.’ From anybody else I wouldn’t have taken a comment like that, but somehow from Lee it was okay. He exuded a sort of sexual confidence, and the instant and silent knowledge that eventually we would fuck radiated from his every pore. It would have been foolish of me to deny that unspoken understanding, and I privately looked forward to the day I’d discover if the tattoos that adorned his muscular arms, extended to his chest and down his legs.
That was three flirtatious months ago, and it had been fun letting the erotic tension build between us, getting more intense as the weeks of inaction ticked by, but finally, Lee’s resolve had broken. He told me, as he hammered an impatient fist on my front door during his lunch hour, that he’d been changing the oil in a beat-up old motorcar, when he’d realised he couldn’t hold on another moment.
After the glorious frisson of the wait, there was always the risk that the reality wouldn’t live up to the expectation. I hadn’t been disappointed however, far from it.
I smiled to myself as Lee dragged his grubby boiler suit back on, and disappeared down my garden path at a run. His words echoed in my head, “You ain’t got the equipment baby.” A wicked twinkle began to shine in my eyes at the prospect of what lay ahead for the unsuspecting mechanic, and speaking across the empty room, I said, ‘Well actually Mr Lee Cooper, I have all the equipment we could possibly need…’
The thought of his tight arse, of claiming it as my own, of taking control of Lee for a while, and perhaps robbing him of a portion of his macho-attitude, grew within me, and I began to lay plans for the temporary domination of this alpha-male.
On Lee’s next visit, predictably the following lunchtime, I embarked on a mission to both enjoy myself, and to lull him into a false sense of security, neither mentioning how delicious I found his backside, nor my eventual intentions for it. As his calloused hands made their way over my naked chest, pinching my nipples with exquisitely painful squeezes, I groaned with genuine pleasure. Stroking the beautifully toned body that pushed against mine, I relished the sight of the tanned multi-tattooed chest I’d so recently discovered.
It was on Lee’s fourth visit that I kept my hands exclusively on his backside. Patting it gently, smoothing it, and caressing it, in a totally non-threatening way, as my new lover pumped himself swiftly in and out of me.
On the fifth visit Lee announced he’d had a dream about tying me up. His face, when I told him that he could do just that, was a picture. I’m not sure if he was more turned on by the fact he could do anything he liked to me, while my hands were secured behind my naked back, or by the feeling of power my helplessness gave him. I suspect the latter. As Lee’s warm tongue explored my stomach, and ducked skilfully between my spread legs, I wallowed submissively in the blissful feelings that engulfed me.
During visit number six, a rare after work encounter, while Lee was both fucking and smacking my arse with stingingly wonderful efficiency, the last few parts of my plan fell into place, and I knew that my need to take his firm neat backside was reaching the point of obsession.
A little over two weeks after Lee had first turned up on my doorstep, I decided the time had come to act. Laying out my sex toys in a neat row near my pillow, I hid them from view with my duvet. Removing the clutter of clothes from the battered old armchair I keep in the corner of my bedroom, I adjusted its position so that it was at the foot of the bed. Then I took off my regular jeans and t-shirt, and put on my tight black Lycra bodice and matching knickers. The caress of the clinging material against my flesh was enough to increase my pulse-rate, and boot-up the arousal I had been so carefully keeping in check.
Lee’s distinctive knock on the door came at almost exactly seven o’clock as we’d arranged. I smiled quietly to myself at his promptness and, wrapping myself in a black silk robe, descended the stairs to collect my unwitting victim.
‘Wow babe,’ his appreciative eyes ran over my robed frame, ‘like the silk.’ He reached forward, and I allowed Lee to engulf me briefly in his arms, his stubble scratching my cheeks as his mouth came to mine. Then, I broke away from his magnetic warmth, holding him at arms length.
‘You like what you see?’ I grinned at Lee, my green eyes reflecting into his brown ones, ‘you want to see more?’…
****
If you’d like to find out what happens to Lee next, you can buy Equipment from all good e-retailers- including…
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Equipment-Other-Stories-Group-Erotica-ebook/dp/B0096DL33A
http://www.amazon.com/Equipment-Other-Stories-Kay-Jaybee-ebook/dp/B0096DL33A/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1406036656&sr=1-1&keywords=Equipment+kay+jaybee
Happy reading,
Kay xx
April 30, 2020
Something for the Weekend: Knowing Her Place
This week I’m sharing an extract from the third novel in my ‘The Perfect Submissive’ trilogy – Knowing Her Place.
Blurb:
Full of unanswered questions after her erotic fairytale experience at The Retreat in Scotland, Jess Sanders is desperate to return to her submissive position at the exclusive Fables Hotel in Oxfordshire.
Having been thwarted in his plans to keep Jess, The Retreat’s owner, David Proctor, isn’t willing to let her go without sending the so-called ‘perfect’ submissive on one final mission. Only if Jess succeeds in the task he sets her, will Proctor remove the collar of servitude he has locked around her neck.
With a list of five unfamiliar addresses to hand, Jess is placed in a car and driven away from The Retreat towards England. With no idea of what, or who, awaits her at each location, all Jess can hope for is that the journey will eventually take her back to where she belongs.
To the fifth floor of the Fables Hotel, where Miss Jess Sanders truly knows her place.
***
Here’s an extract from the very beginning of Chapter 1…
Miss Jess Sanders fingered the cream envelope she clutched between her fingers. The paper was damp, its previously crisp edges tattered and limp from where she’d been gripping it so tightly.
Her right hand came to her throat. Gingerly, Jess fingered the black leather collar that spanned her neck.
Every part of her ached.
Sitting in the rear of a very comfortable, chauffeur-driven BMW, Jess couldn’t even face glancing out of the window. The journey from the North East of Scotland to wherever it was she was being taken in England seemed to be taking forever.
Only a few hours earlier, Jess had been working at The Retreat, providing submissive services at a business launch party, where 150 delegates from the Fairtasia adult comic production company had explored every inch of her body. Reclining against the leather seat, she closed her eyes. She could still feel the imprint of each hand, tongue, breast and cock that had come her way. Her stomach churned with nerves, anger, fatigue, and her body’s treacherous and constant need for more sex.
Seven months ago, Jess had no idea she was a born submissive.
Six months ago, after becoming bored with a succession of temping jobs, she’d applied for the position of booking clerk at the Fables Hotel in Oxford, landed the post, and her life had changed beyond all recognition. From being a single girl, with a lacklustre sex life and no partner, Jess had become the resident submissive on Fables’ fifth floor. A place which, under the iron management of the very dominant Mrs Peters, provided a special service for adults who wished for their ultimate sexual fantasies to come true without fear of judgement, and in perfect safety.
Initially Jess had been horrified at how well, and how quickly, she’d adapted to this new subservient lifestyle. A lifestyle Mrs Peters had spotted she was suited to long before Jess herself had any idea. But just as she’d settled into her new life and work regime at the hotel, Jess had found herself uprooted.
One of Fables’ most demanding clients, Mr David Proctor, had persuaded Mrs Peters to lend him Jess, along with her dominatrix Miss Sarah, to help him and his manageress, Dr Ewen, set up his own Fables-style establishment in a remote part of Scotland – The Retreat.
Jess and Miss Sarah had been told they were being lent to Proctor to teach his staff the art of submissive behaviour. The reality of the situation, however, hadn’t been quite so straightforward.
Running her little finger along the outer edge of the collar for a second time, Jess fought back the constant reflex to choke. It was so tight. There was no way it could be cut free without damaging her skin.
David Proctor had forced Jess into his collar, declaring her his property unless she proved herself worthy of release. He was the only one with a key to the little silver padlock that held it together at the front of her neck. Even if she did manage to prise the leather free somehow, as the car left the never-ending A9 that tracks the east side of Scotland and joined the motorway, Jess could hear Proctor’s warning words echo in her ears when she’d threatened to call Mrs Peters …
“If you call her, that collar is never coming off. There is only one key and I have it. And before you think it can be cut off, it can’t be done. Not without hurting you. Anyway, if you did get it cut off, you’d have failed, and part of you would always remain mine. I can’t see Mrs Peters liking that very much; can you?”
Jess hated that he was right. Her boss wouldn’t have liked it all. She tried to tell herself that Mrs Peters would come to her rescue – but she physically and mentally shrank back from wondering what the cost of making such a request of the Fables’ mistress would be.
Unbidden, her mind slipped from thoughts of her boss to Miss Sarah. She tried to ignore the increase in her pulse rate, and the automatic swell of her breasts that the image of the tall, slim, demanding dominatrix always caused. For a split second, while they’d been together at The Retreat, Jess had begun to hope Miss Sarah cared for her a little beyond the requirements of work.
Jess knew, although she would never have been foolish enough to say so out loud, that she had formed a strong emotional attachment to the woman who dominated her body day after day in the pursuit of other people’s pleasure. Sometimes she trusted that her personal feelings towards her mistress were genuine but, on other occasions, logical thought took over. She told herself, for the umpteenth time, as she looked out in the night, that she’d probably adopted some sort of warped Stockholm Syndrome feeling to Miss Sarah; like a victim falling for her kidnapper.
It had been Miss Sarah who Mrs Peters had ordered to train Jess when she’d first joined the team at Fables. A training which had included a vigorously kinky, and highly effective, exercise routine that gave Jess immense stamina, teaching her how to remain motionless for prolonged periods of time, and how to delay an orgasm for as long as humanly possible.
At first, Jess had been terrified of Miss Sarah. She’d suspected the dominatrix resented her arrival, especially when Mrs Peters began to refer to Jess as her “perfect submissive.” This was a title Jess now understood had been designed precisely to provoke her, and force her to work even harder for fear of not living up to her requirements. It had nothing to do with Mrs Peters thinking Jess was good at her job –although Jess hoped she did.
But she sent you away … Jess shook her head sharply. Mrs Peters couldn’t have known Proctor had planned to keep her all along. She couldn’t possibly have been in on this from the start. Her boss had been conned by Proctor. They’d all been conned…
****
Knowing Her Place follows on from The Fifth Floor and The Retreat.
Available from:
Amazon UK
Amazon US
Amazon AU
Amazon CA
Barnes & Noble
iBooks UK
iBooks US
Smashwords
Happy weekend reading,
Kay x
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