Kay Jaybee's Blog, page 45
August 21, 2016
FREE READ-Chapter 1- Not Her Type: Erotic Adventures With A Delivery Man
Hello everyone. If like me, you’re wishing you were enjoying the fun at Sexhibition, you might fancy a little bit of kinky wordage to cheer you up!
Happy reading…
Free Read – Not Her Type: Erotic Adventures of a Delivery Man
(copyright- Kay Jaybee and 1001NightsPress)
Chapter 1
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.
Not Her Type Brit Babe Rating
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
August 15, 2016
Being around for ages…
In only one months time I will have been indulging in this writing lark for 12 years. I never dreamt I’d be around so long!
There are many advantages of being considered one of the “old school” – something that happens more and more these days, and seems to have a lot to do with the fact I was a pre- Fifty Shades erotica pedlar.
For me, it’s a more relaxing affair writing erotica these days. It hit me the other day that my old manic need to have a new publication out every five minutes has gone. I suppose the need to prove myself has passed – although I am yet to reach the stage where I think what I write is any good! I never think that- and I can’t imagine that I ever will.
I’ve also got used to being asked for all sorts of advice, from how to write, how to get published, and how to sell books once all the ‘hard’ work is done. It only seems a minute ago that I was the one too scared to ask for help- now I’m running erotica writing workshops! Only two weeks ago I was sat in the lovely Octavo Wine Bar and Bookshop near Cardiff Bay teaching the finer points of sexing up the ordinary within erotica.
It was tremendous fun, and I feel incredibly privileged to be able to chat to aspiring writers. Of course, it is also reassuring to know that erotica still has talented writers interested in joining its ranks – heartening after the past few years of poor quality material by half-heartened writers flooding the e-market in the hope of making a quick few quid.
I chose to think it’s experience that has brought me this privilege rather than age!!
Having said that I’m more relaxed about this erotica lark these days, I should say that doesn’t mean I don’t get extremely over excited when I get a story accepted. When nice things happen I still feel the same sense adrenalin rush as I did when my first story was taken all those years ago.
This week for example, when the latest ETO Magazine came out, I discovered that my BDSM romantic trilogy, The Perfect Submissive Trilogy, is currently Xcite Books best selling book! And for that matter, The Voyeur (my darker BDSM threesome novel) is at number 10 in the chart!! The smile on my face when I saw that was wide indeed.
With more writing workshops lined up (Kd Grace and I will be teaching at Sh! Hoxton in September- details soon), a new book almost written, and new sex toys waiting to be tested (I get gifts sent to me all the time in the hope I’ll review them- now that is a perk of being an ‘established name’), my life in erotica continues a pace…and I still love every second of it.
Happy reading,
Kay xx
August 4, 2016
The Perfect Submissive: Jess sat at her desk…
“…The Perfect Submissive blows Fifty Shades out of the water…”
Jenkat c/o Lovehoney
I have been overwhelmed by the continued popularity of my BDSM series, The Perfect Submissive Trilogy, (followed by The New Room novella). Long before E L James stopped practicing psychiatry, I wrote the story of Miss Jess Sanders. I thought I’d leave you with a sexy snippet from Jess’s adventure while I was away on my holidays…
If you haven’t come across Jess before, here’s an extract from the beginning of book one, The Perfect Submissive…
…Jess was sat at her desk, a half eaten sandwich in one hand; the fingers of her other hand dancing over the computer keyboard. Laura watched her through the office window for a few moments before confidently stepping into the room, interrupting the clerk without hesitation. ‘Mr Davies informs me he has not yet had time to complete your preliminary tour of the hotel.’
Understanding precisely where the manageress intended to take her, Jess spoke carefully, ‘I’ve seen most of it, but not all.’
Without confirming the clerk’s suspicions, Laura said, ‘I have a few moments, so if you’d like to walk this way I’ll complete that area of your training.’ She pointed towards the office door, ‘You are bound to be asked for directions around the place by our guests and it doesn’t look very professional if a member of staff gets lost herself, wouldn’t you agree?’
‘I would, Mrs Peters.’
Although she’d now worked at the Fables for just over a week, Jess still hadn’t looked her boss in the eye once, a fact that sent a buzz of conviction through Mrs Peters; her initial instincts about the girl had been correct.
‘Are you happy here so far, Miss Sanders?’
‘Yes, Mrs Peters. Thank you.’ Jess muttered her response, almost managing to glance directly at her superior, but falling short at her shoulders. Laura’s heartbeat increased in response to the girl’s natural deference. Jess Sanders was just so perfect for what she had in mind.
As they walked towards the staff lift Laura attempted to improve the flow of conversation, ‘And I don’t think you have yet been introduced to all the other members of staff?’
‘Not yet, no.’ Again Jess spoke cautiously, and Laura knew from the expression on her face that she was both fearful and curious about meeting anyone who kept their business arrangements entirely to the Fables upper storey.
‘We are one member of staff down at the moment; one of my assistants has left us for pastures new. I’m searching for a replacement. Master Lee Philips, who works in the bar downstairs, helps me out as and when required, but it’s not an ideal arrangement. He has many other duties, and besides, the fifth floor guests frequently prefer the female touch.’
Following the clerk into the lift it was obvious that no small talk was going to come from her, so Laura calmly kept up her commentary. ‘My associate, Miss Sarah, should be on the premises by 10.00 each morning, unless she has had a complete night session, in which case she is not expected until 2.00 p.m. As I’ve said, Master Philips comes and goes, depending on our requirements and his bar and reception work. Miss Sarah has her first session of the day in a few moments, if we are lucky we should just catch the show.’
Visibly shrinking back, Jess noticed how Mrs Peters walked a little taller now they’d reached her domain. Her face was more set, her back straighter, and somehow she appeared even more intimidating than before. Pushing her hands into the deep pockets of her clinging knee-length black skirt, Jess hid the growing sheen of perspiration on her palms, while trying to ignore the fearful beat of her pulse.
Crossing the threshold of the room, into which she was being firmly steered by the elbow, felt like entering another world to Jess, or rather, another time. Manoeuvred towards a plush red velvet chaise longue, her eyes darting here and there, the clerk was pointedly sat down.
Trying to ignore the light but persistent pressure of Mrs Peters cool hand against her wrist, Jess took in the reproduction William Morris wallpaper, the heavy dark-wood chest of drawers, the floor to ceiling bookshelves, and the faded brown leather wing-backed armchair. Centre stage, only a few metres from where they sat, was a huge writing desk. Its top was inlaid with a square of leather, a portion of which was covered with blotting paper, an accompanying ink well, pots of ink, and nibbed pens.
Jess was reminded of a museum she’d once visited as a child, where rooms from a variety of different houses had been re-created from a number of historical periods. This room had Victorian study written all over it.
The silence was beginning to get to her as she waited, perched rather than sat, on the unyielding seat. A faint voice of hope at the back of her head kept telling her that all this had to be some sort of practical joke, but one glance at Mrs Peters made Jess reconsider. Her eyes kept drifting towards the study door. Whatever she had been brought here to witness surely couldn’t begin until someone came in. Twenty seconds later, each one ticked off by the hammer of Jess’s heart beating, the door swung back with a confident push.
‘Ah, Miss Sarah,’ Laura rose from her seat, a stern glare at Jess telling her not to move. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but Fables has a new member of staff, and I thought it would be a good idea to let her observe one of our sessions.’
Miss Sarah, her face powdered to an ultra-pale complexion, her curling hair pinned up in the style of a Victorian lady, her exquisite outfit historically accurate down to the small white buttons that fastened her stylish black boots, curtsied at once to her superior, ‘Of course, Mrs Peters.’
The stunningly slim woman glanced briefly at Jess, her grey gaze only lingering long enough to acknowledge the stranger, without taking in what she looked like or who she might be. Miss Sarah’s indifference, dismissing the office clerk as an unimportant factor in the room, made Jess feel smaller and more anxious than ever.
The agonising lull continued and Jess’s imagination began to run riot as Miss Sarah sat at the desk in preparation for her client’s arrival. Images of pock-skinned overweight men, panting loudly as they fucked the employees of the fifth floor against the furniture made Jess’s stomach churn, but there was no way out. With a quiet determination that Mrs Peters would have been surprised to know Jess possessed, she thought, if the other members of staff here have survived this part of the tour, then so can I.
As Mrs Peters returned to both the chaise longue and her application of gentle restraint against the clerk’s arm, Jess’s body stiffened. Someone was knocking on the door. Not daring to face her employer, Jess focused on the figure that, after being granted permission to enter, walked meekly into the study.
If he hadn’t had his neck bent, his face to the floor with respect for Miss Sarah, who greeted him with a sharp ‘Good Morning’, Jess judged he would have been quite tall. And he was young; not the sweaty, aged bank manager Jess had conjured up in her head, but a man in his late 20s or early 30s, with a shaven face, short spiked ginger hair, and well built limbs. He was dressed as a servant, perhaps a stable hand. Jess was automatically reminded of Lady Chatterley’s Lover. Gulping against her dehydrated throat, unwilling to see the sex that she was sure was about to follow, the clerk dropped her eyes, only to have her chin roughly jerked upwards by Mrs Peters, ‘No, child. You will observe. You will learn.’
A patina of panic gripped Jess. Every hair on the back of her neck stood to attention. Until that moment it had been unreal. She hadn’t let go of the hope that at any minute someone was going to turn around and say, ‘OK, Jess, it’s just a joke. We play it on all the new girls. Let’s grab a coffee.’ No one did though. No one was saying anything…
****
If you’d like to read on, you can buy The Perfect Submissive as a paperback, an ebook, or as part of an e-boxset of the complete The Perfect Submissive Trilogy…
Boxed Set (The Perfect Submissive, The Retreat and Knowing Her Place)http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Perfect-Submissive-Boxset-Jaybee-ebook/dp/B00T58G69M/ref=zg_bs_4542633031_6
The Perfect Submissive Book 1 (paperback or kindle)
The Retreat Book 2 (paperback and kindle)
Knowing Her Place Book 3 (paperback and kindle)
And don’t forget- there is a novella length extra story now available to finish Jess’s erotic adventure!
The New Room (eBook only)
Happy reading everyone,
Kay xxxx
August 1, 2016
Where Did Summer Go? Digging Deep will warm you up
I could have sworn it ws supposed to be summer. Somehow the weather Gods and Goddesses have got confused, because it definitely feels like winter here in Devon! I even have my chunky winter jumper on.
So, let; warm up a bit with some Tunisian kinky romance.
Based (loosely!!!) on my own adventures as an archaeologist in searing hot Tunisia many years ago, this novella was immense fun to write. Here’s the first chapter of Digging Deep , to whet your appetite…
Chapter One
Irritably adjusting her wide-brimmed hat for the third time in as many minutes, Dr Beth Andrews felt the sting of the African sun sear the back of her neck through the tresses of her long, ginger hair.
She never dreamt she’d miss the stubborn, muddy clay of the British earth she was used to hunting through in her search for archaeological data, but the uncooperatively fine white sand of North Africa was enough to try the patience of a saint.
Throwing down her brush in overheated exasperation, Beth thought fondly of her excavation trowel. Her tool of choice had quickly been rendered obsolete in the face of so much sand, and a job that was, by necessity, slow was reduced to a snail’s pace as the metre by metre square of the Ancient Roman bath house site in which she worked backfilled in on itself with every sweep of her light bristled brush.
It had been a dream come true for Beth when she’d been selected to lead the University of Wales’s excavation team, digging the sprawling Ancient Roman city of Lepti Major on the outskirts of Sousse in Tunisia. She had longed to experience new exotic sites and see new exotic sights. The chance to uncover stunning mosaics and city roads that hadn’t been trodden for 1000 years was an opportunity she’d had no intention of letting pass by.
The fact she’d be sharing responsibility for the site with her archaeological hero, the unimaginatively named Dr Harrison Harris from Colorado, an American academic who’d been the subject of many of Beth’s private fantasies since she’d fallen in love with his work, not to mention the photograph of him on the back cover of his books, in her first year as a student, was neither here nor there.
Flicking her eyes covertly over towards Harrison, Beth averted her attention away from the slight increase in her pulse rate by recalling what the site’s previous supervisor had said about working in Africa’s extreme temperatures. “Scalding by day, and freezing by night”. Linda had warned Beth that her freckle-spotted, sensitive flesh would loathe being either fried or frozen just as much as her archaeological brain would relish the challenge of constructing a city from its remains.
Beth hated the fact that Linda had been right. She’d never been rendered so sweaty, not to mention so blotched with extra heat-induced freckles, in her life. There couldn’t have been a centimetre of her body that hadn’t got a fresh cluster of beige dots on it. After only a week under the sun, it was becoming a struggle to hold on to her generally calm approach to life, and Beth was finding that her temper, which rarely flared in the UK, was on a permanently short fuse.
What got to her most was that none of her colleagues seemed to be suffering at all. They were all happily tanning as they worked, and sleeping off their exhaustion with ease at night.
It hadn’t taken Beth more than a few hours of digging in the unshaded bath house on her first day to see that a survival technique was required to prevent the elements disrupting her professional judgement. She tried thinking about work, home, rain, and even walks in the snow as she worked, but only one thing successfully diverted her attention from the exposure of her unusually pale flesh to the elements, and that was to allow her mind to fill with erotic scenarios and fantasies, while her hands got on with the job in hand.
This specialised amusement had the benefit of taking her mind off the sun that managed to scald her back even through three layers of thin cotton, and had the added bonus of warming her at night. Lying on her thin camping mattress, Beth would recall all she’d pondered during the day, engendering an ardour between her thighs that her fingers deftly maximised, leaving her physically warmer and bodily sated, and thus making it easier for her to fall asleep.
At first, Beth had been determined that Harrison would not feature in her erotic musings. Her resolve had not lasted long, however, and although she did her best to make the men in her sexy survival scenarios anonymous, the American’s face crept in with increasing frequency.
Manoeuvring a layer of burning sand from one side of her section to the other, Beth considered her colleague. His reputation as an expert in Roman archaeology was renowned. Beth had never dreamt she’d ever meet him, let alone work with him as an equal. His knowledge and academic intellect had been enough to make her heart flutter for years. Yet what Harrison was like in reality was not at all how she’d assumed he’d be.
She’d envisaged him as being chatty, tall, slim, dark-haired, and weather-tanned. He’d probably wear glasses for reading, and be forever clad in T-shirts and large-pocketed shorts as he leapt around excavations like a gazelle.
In fact, she’d hardly heard Harrison’s distinct Colorado accent. He seemed to prefer his own company to that of the group. When he did talk to Beth, he called her “doll,” which made her feel like a lump of mass-produced, animated plastic.
Harrison was about 5 foot 7, not the 6 foot plus she’d pictured, and his spiked hair was a sun-kissed blond and not brown. His build was stocky and muscular, his bare arms and legs permanently gritted with granules of sand, and although he moved with a speed which would have been the envy of any gazelle, he managed to proceed around the site somehow without making a sound.
The problem is, Beth thought as she traced the outline of what she suspected might be a Roman drain gully, I built up an image of him based on a book cover’s black-and-white out of date headshot, and I was way off.
She’d been right about Harrison wearing knee-length shorts, though. Everyone on the dig wore such shorts, except for the stick thin, heavy-chested blonde on the American team, who might as well have been wearing knickers her shorts were so scanty. Beth sighed as she looked down at her own attire. A protective covering of baggy clothing shrouded her limbs, and her porcelain neck was hidden beneath spirals of her ginger hair, which glowed as if she’d been hit by radiation rather than African sunlight.
Ryan wasn’t helping either. The most charismatic of her students had been so enthusiastic on his first morning that he’d headed to the site before everybody else, without waiting for Beth to detail where to dig. Consequently, he’d powered through the ground in an alarmingly gung-ho manner, neglected the recording of each strata-graphic layer and, with his six-pack and biceps shining against 120 degrees of sunshine, had crashed his shovel into the corner of a mosaic that had been safely protected by the landscape for hundreds of years, breaking off half-a-dozen exquisitely coloured tessera cubes, and rendering one of the depicted Medusa’s snakes partially headless.
Beth had gone ballistic. To his credit, Ryan had been mortified. He’d begged her not to tell anyone. For the sake of the university’s reputation, not to mention her fear that Harrison would take one look at her careless student, assume she was no good at supervision, and send her home, she had agreed it would be their secret. Ever since, however, Ryan had been driving Beth mad with his attempts to make it up to her at every opportunity.
Only that morning he’d lent so close to Beth as he informed her he was going to make up for his blunder that his soft Welsh tones had vibrated against her skin. His manner was so blatantly suggestive that she hadn’t been able to prevent the inappropriate smile that had very briefly crossed her lips.
Picking up her dustpan and brush, Beth stroked away the grains of sand that sat between her and her judgement as to whether the lines being revealed were part of the bath house drainage system or not. Expertly tracing the changing colours in the freshly uncovered ground, Beth, confident that her theory was correct, and that the ancient shadows of the gully she could see could be followed across the ground with ease, readopted her technique to deviate her attention from the cruel climate, while her fingers worked the earth.
What exactly is Ryan offering? she wondered. A sneaky snog behind the equipment cupboard? A cooling down of my chest with his tongue? Or is he more ambitious than that? Does he imagine me naked, face down, spread-eagled over an empty wheelbarrow with his cock between my legs; or see us together in the shower, washing off the worst of the sand that seems to be permanently stuck to my body while he shoves his dick down my throat?
For goodness’ sake, woman! she chided herself. Beth was surprised to find her chest, whose generous size she’d always loved before, but now heartily wished was small enough to go without the extra layer of material her bra provided, was becoming taut. Cross with herself, she shook her hair out from beneath her hat, as if trying to dislodge the thoughts from her head. Having random erotic dreams might be the only thing that keeps you sane in this blast furnace – but you must not consider your students! Get a grip!
Briskly returning to the matter in hand, Beth cut through a layer of denser sand, wishing Ryan wasn’t working the section directly behind her. She daren’t turn to check he was all right like she did her other students. The last time she’d done so, she had caught him ogling her butt with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows, which couldn’t have been mistaken for anything other than the type of lustful intentions her own imagination had just so colourfully displayed to her. Ever since then, she had been more than a little self-conscious of the stretch of her cotton combats over her backside.
Crouching on her haunches, letting her eyes roam across the site as a whole, Beth struck Ryan from her mind, and began weighing up the significance of what she was excavating in relation to what else was opening up on the dig before her. As she leant in closer, a glitter of something just below the upper level of the sand caught her eye. Trailing her brush across the yellow surface, she mentally listed all the hidden things that might shine: mosaic tesserae, jewellery, votive offerings to the gods …
With a sharp scream, Beth stumbled backwards out of her square in a mad scramble to escape. Her find was none of the things archaeologists dream of uncovering. In the haste to get away, her left foot caught on the guide string that divided her metre section from the next. Tripping, she fell heavily backwards.
Flushed with an embarrassment that enflamed her already pinkened features, Beth found herself being scooped onto Ryan’s lap, his arms wrapped protectively around her.
Alerted by the unexpected shriek, the other students in the immediate vicinity began to gather round. Most of them, however, backed away the moment they saw what had caused Beth’s unusual lack of professionalism; except for the leggy American, who looked at Ryan in disgust, pointedly rolled her eyes at Beth, and returned to her work.
Beth didn’t have time to think about the blonde’s unsympathetic reaction. All her attention was on the bronze snake which hadn’t appreciated its home being disturbed by an inquisitive human. She was convinced it was staring straight at her, its tongue flicking, smelling the air around it in an accusatory manner.
Her initial shock subsiding, and abruptly sensible of where she was, and how it must appear to see one of the supervisors in the embrace of a student, Beth scrambled shakily to her feet. She wasn’t sure if she was more mortified by her public reaction to the snake, or by the fact that her body felt more than a little content at being cradled so protectively in Ryan’s arms so recently after her erotic ruminations had headed in his direction. ‘I’m sorry, everyone! That was a bit of a shock. I’m not good with snakes.’
‘Don’t worry about it, boss.’ Ryan ran a consoling hand down Beth’s cotton-covered arm, creating small prickles of uninvited lust that appeared on top of the prickles of fear already there, and sending them both tripping towards her crotch.
Rueing her kinky imagination, Beth took another step away from her student. Moving rather too fast, she collided with the stocky frame of Harrison Harris. He’d crossed the site on his ever-silent feet to see what all the fuss was about without her even noticing, causing Beth to jump out of her skin for a second time. ‘Honestly. Harrison, don’t you ever make a sound when you move?’
‘Hardly ever!’ He treated her to one of his Colorado smiles, making Beth suspect that he was privately laughing at her. ‘You OK, doll?’
Not stopping to waste her breath on asking him for the umpteenth time not to call her “doll”, Beth did her best to ignore the twinkle in Harrison’s eye that confirmed he found the situation hilarious, and settled for being grateful that he hadn’t vocalised his mirth in front of their charges.
‘I’m fine. The snake took me by surprise.’
Beth had no doubt this little episode would be site folklore by dinner time. She didn’t usually care about that sort of thing, and was always one of the first to laugh when she made a fool of herself, but now she found her face darkening with embarrassment in the face of her colleague.
‘Is that all?’ Harrison bent down and retrieved the brush Beth had abandoned in her hurry to move away from the snake. ‘You’re sure?’
‘I’m sure. Just shock. I don’t like snakes. I haven’t damaged anything, I hope.’
‘No harm done.’ Harrison shot Ryan a look which plainly said “this time”, making Beth wonder if the timing of the breaking of the mosaic had gone unnoticed after all. ‘Here you go, doll.’ He gestured to the creature. ‘He’s just a sand snake. Won’t do you any harm. I’ll move him somewhere safe.’
‘Thank you.’ Beth’s words came out rather weakly as the unfortunate creature was picked up and repositioned against a dune of previously excavated sand, into which it quickly disappeared. Seeing Harrison rehome the creature with no more fuss than if he’d moved a worm from a flower bed to a vegetable patch made Beth even more cross with herself for being so feeble in front of a man she’d so badly wanted to impress. She found herself babbling in explanation, ‘Insects I have no problem with. Spiders are cool. But snakes … I can’t stand them.’
This time Harrison did laugh openly, wiping one of his calloused palms across his forehead, smearing dirt into his spiky hair and knocking back his faded Stetson in the process. ‘You’re a regular Indiana Jones, doll!’
Keen to keep the general atmosphere light, Beth added, ‘Well. As long as I don’t get chased by any oversized boulders or attacked by a tribe of pygmies with blowpipes then I guess I can live with the comparison!’
Taking a hefty swig from her water bottle, she smiled, relieved that her ability to laugh at herself was finally reasserting itself after days of being diminished by the heat.
Harrison grinned as he strolled to his side of the dig. ‘Gotta love that dry English sense of humour, doll.’
Beth called after him, ‘Thanks for the snake removal, Harry.’
He kept walking as he corrected her. ‘Harrison. It’s Harrison, I told you. I don’t like being called Harry.’
She shouted at his retreating back, ‘And I don’t like being referred to as a doll. It makes me sound like a character in an American B-movie! Message received?’
Still laughing, Harrison didn’t look round, but held up a hand as if in defeat. ‘Gotcha, doll! Message received.’
Stepping back into her square, Beth looked at her watch. It wasn’t even ten o’clock in the morning, and the heat was already making it feel as if someone was systematically pouring paint stripper across her shoulders. She could hear her students chatting happily as they worked. All except for Ryan, who was unusually quiet.
Beth sighed as she recalled Harrison’s glare towards Ryan, and realised it wasn’t just her rationale she’d left in the colder climate of home, but her common sense as well. It was time to come clean about how Ryan had messed up the mosaic and, more importantly, why she hadn’t reported the incident straight away.
Her decision made, Beth’s hands returned to working the ground, while her imagination speculated how it might have felt if Harrison had been the one she’d accidently sat on. Would I have wanted to get up quite so quickly? Her pussy twitched as if in confirmation, as her green eyes studied the Roman drain …
Digging Deep is available as a download or a paperback from all good retailers, including-
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Digging-Deep-Cariad-Singles-Book-ebook/dp/B00L2GR7C0/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1404411608&sr=1-1&keywords=Digging+Deep+kay+jaybee
http://www.amazon.com/Digging-Deep-Cariad-Singles-Book-ebook/dp/B00L2GR7C0/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1404411692&sr=1-1&keywords=digging+deep+kay+jaybee
Happy reading!!
Kay xx
July 30, 2016
A Little Bit of The Best of…
While I’m busy writing away as the other me- (Jenny Kane)- I’ve been looking back over my Kay archive- and reminding myself as much as your good selves, what I’ve written! I know it sounds daft, but some of the pieces I’ve created- especially the short stories- tend to get forgotten the moment they are submitted, as I rush off to write the next piece.
Today I thought I’d share a little from one of the tales in my Best of… collection- I still can’t believe I have one of those!!
Blurb-
Fourteen of the very best erotic tales of dominance, submission, bondage, and romantic lust, are delivered with lashings of kink from the pen of Kay Jaybee. From the sexual adventures recalled by a woman as she stares at her favourite shirt, to a deliciously dirty orgy on a bed of cardboard boxes, the after-hours education of a rookie soldier, and the bizarre obsession of an Egyptologist, each story shows why Kay Jaybee has been hailed as ‘a master of the craft of erotica’ (Oysters and Chocolate). As a girl writes messages of lust on the body of her best friend’s lover, and a mistress’s employment of ropes and chains on her slave co-insides with the application of emulsion, we discover just how Kay has earned her reputation for producing ‘super-heated kinky stories,’ (Kd Grace), which are ‘a sublime pleasure to read’ (Violet Blue).
It’s a very odd feeling to read a blurb like that about your own work! I know I often say it, but I honestly can’t believe how much has happened to me ‘writing wise’ in the last ten years. That I have enough stories published with Xcite to warrant them publishing a ‘Best Of…Collection’ is an amazing feeling.
As you’d expect from me, there are a fair number of dominance and submission related stories included in this anthology, but there is also a heap of romantic lust, erotic romance, explored fantasies, and happy kinky threesome play.
“Jaybee really shows how it’s done, without any need for dubious consent or otherwise (shudder!). Here, consenting adults are taken out their comfort zones and into downright saucy situations that are fun to read AND imagine. Jaybee is at the top of her (filthy) tree and deservedly so…” (Amazon Review)
If you’ve never read any of my work before, then The Best of Kay Jaybee is just the right place to start before you venture on to discover my novellas and novels.
Here’s a taster from Finger Music for you…
Finger Music
The subdued light of the room reflected off the whitewashed brick walls, gathering in one bright spot on the polished floorboards. In the centre of the glow, a pair of oversized brogues were firmly planted either side of a long metal spike; a spike that, as Sally’s eyes slowly rose, turned out to be attached to a double bass. The first member of the jazz trio hired to play in the bar where she worked that evening had obviously arrived early to rehearse.
It wasn’t the presence of the single musician that halted Sally on her way to the staffroom, but the sound he was creating. The wooden panels beneath her feet resounded to the rhythm, humming against her trainers, as she stood transfixed.
Ignorant of even basic jazz, Sally watched as the man played, his bulk equal to the challenge of supporting the instrument, his eyes tightly closed, lost in his music as his digits danced up and down the fret with a speed and agility that belied his thick fingers. And yet, as she watched, Sally realised she’d been quite wrong. This man wasn’t bulky; he was simply tall, fit and immensely strong. A flicker of unexpected electricity climbed up her spine.
With his eyes still shut, a patina of perspiration gathered across his forehead as his fingers increased speed with the tempo of the music.
Sally pushed her back to the door and, bending her knees, slid quietly to the floor, her eyes never leaving those nimble fingers. Vaguely aware that she had never witnessed anything as erotic as those smooth digits as they skilfully played, Sally began to wonder how else he might employ such dexterity.
The tune he’d been playing morphed seamlessly into another, slower this time, calmer, a more sensual glide taking over from the heady yet graceful hammering of the previous melody. Sally glanced up at his face, suddenly realising where she was; sitting on the hard wooden floor, half an hour before the bar opened. Her manager, fellow waiting staff, and the other members of the jazz group could walk in at any moment, expecting Sally to have everything all set up for the evening ahead.
Although his eyes remained shut, Sally felt caught out. She didn’t know if the man was aware of her presence or not. Scrabbling back to her feet, she tried to shake off the hypnotic beat that resonated in her ribcage and between her legs. Trying to stop herself allowing her imagination to mentally replace the double bass fingerboard with her own spine, Sally self-consciously began to edge toward the staffroom door.
‘Did you like it?’
His voice was almost as deep as the notes he’d been playing, and seemed to echo into the abruptly quiet space.
‘I … um … yes …’ Sally felt an uncharacteristic blush cover her usually pale cheeks. ‘I hope you didn’t mind me listening.’
‘That is what I’m here for.’
Already aroused by her fantasies about his manual dexterity, Sally felt a further tug at her crotch as his right eyebrow lifted, and a blast of searing-eyed mischief scorched her.
‘Oh yeah, right.’ Her limbs felt awkward and clumsy in the presence of his obvious confidence. It was as if he knew what he’d done to her. As if he’d summed up her physical condition in just one look.
From nowhere, Sally remembered a line in a book she’d once read that had made her scoff: “it was as if he could see right into her soul”. At that moment it didn’t seem like the romantic clap-trap she’d taken it for. It felt hot and real, and the black cups of her satin bra no longer felt big enough to contain their contents.
‘Would you like to try?’ He gestured to both Sally and the double bass in one go, by tilting the instrument in her direction.
‘Um …I …’ Sally’s throat seemed to have dried in upon itself, but her feet shuffled toward him anyway, her eyes glancing between the entrance to the staffroom and the door that led back into the main bar. ‘I should be getting the room ready for your gig; the others will be here very soon’
‘There’s plenty of time.’ Dismissing her task as unimportant, he grasped her wrist and smiled. Immediately Sally felt his pulse match her own, as he stood her so she was sandwiched between the double bass and his body. As his arms passed around her waist she inhaled his intoxicatingly musky odour, her head filled with sudden flashes of a love scene from the film Ghost. She really hated that film. A giggle escaped Sally’s lips.
Ignoring her nervous laughter, he said, ‘You need to place your fingers like this -’ He splayed his hand and rested it over her chest, making Sally take a sharp intake of breath.
Huskily she spoke. ‘You seem to have missed the double bass.’
‘Basics first, honey.’
Sally’s sense of humour and feelings of uncertainty escaped in a further strangled chuckle.
‘Are you ticklish?’ He moved his hands gently, fixing them upon her firmly, as if holding a set of strings.
‘No! Look, this is silly.’ Sally giggled as she wriggled away from him, aware of something dying inside her as she left his grasp. ‘All that is missing is the potter’s wheel!’
He scrutinized her carefully. ‘I wouldn’t have had you down as a chick-flick romance sort of girl.’
With her self-consciousness climbing to a whole new level, Sally scrubbed a stray red hair from her eyes, awarding him a mental point for understanding which film she was referring to without her having to launch into an explanation. ‘I have a housemate; she makes me watch crap movies.’
His eyes narrowed sceptically. ‘That would explain it.’ A giant right palm came forward, bringing Sally back to the matter in hand. ‘I’d like to teach you. Come on.’
‘Someone might see.’
‘Now why would that bother you, I wonder?’ He was mocking her, but despite the silence, Sally could still sense the music; and something in her yearned to hear it again. ‘I was only going to show you how to play.’
Sally swallowed. She couldn’t believe how badly she wanted this man. She didn’t even know his name. He was just an anonymous part of the jazz trio, the remaining members of which would surely be arriving soon.
More than a little aware of her damp knickers, Sally gave in to her reservations and allowed herself to be pulled back against him. The top of her head only reached as far as his neck, and he rested his chin comfortably on her shoulder. He whispered now, the breath of his words caressing her earlobe, ‘Close your eyes and feel.’
This time he squeezed her tightly between him and the double bass and, as if she wasn’t even there, began to play.
The shock of the notes as they rang through her body, throbbing between her pussy lips and igniting her breasts, dried her throat further, sending her imagination into overdrive. Bringing the instrument closer, the musician squashed her chest beneath his fast moving arms, making her very aware of the bulge that had developed in his trousers behind her lower back.
So engrossed was she in the sensations the man and his strings were creating, that at first Sally didn’t notice that his arm had moved, and was diving inside the thin black T-shirt that formed part of her waitress uniform. Without breaking his stride, the bass player popped her small breasts free from their satin holster and continued his fingering. This time though, her bare flesh and hard, taut nipples had replaced the strings directly, and every nerve in Sally’s body shot to her pussy.
Colours danced behind her eyelids, flashing blue and green before, with a firm thrust forward of his groin, and an increase in the speed of the flowing notes, blazing reds and oranges lit up the inside of her eyelids. The lust that the music had been quietly nurturing, combined with the deft touch of his large yet incredibly gentle fingers, abruptly centred itself on her snatch.
Forgetting where she was, and that they might be disturbed at any moment, Sally moved to meet the thrusts. Her arms, previously limp at her sides, reached around to his back, so she could clench the stranger’s arse. Pulling him nearer, Sally could feel the erection that was becoming more defined by the moment.
As soon as she grabbed him, his hands abandoned the bass entirely, wrapping themselves around her. Keeping up his tactile fingering, and as if Sally herself was the instrument, he carried on playing, her breasts, torso, and stomach replacing the fingerboard and strings. The only thing missing was the music, yet it was buzzing through her as, shifting his stance a little, he centred his entire musical prowess on her breasts, her nipples becoming the sole objects of his agile playing…
***
If you want to find out what happened next, you can find The Best of Kay Jaybee in e-format and paperback from all good stockists, including-
***
Happy reading,
Kay xx
July 24, 2016
Dabbling Outside My Comfort Zone
It is often said that we should all do something that scares us every day. That it is healthy to take ourselves outside of our personal comfort zone.
As a child, just the act of having to answer a question out loud during class was enough to scare me to death. My comfort zone at that time could have been described as being where I was either on my own, or with friends who wouldn’t ask me tricky questions! Things haven’t really changed much, yet these days I seem to be living outside of my comfort zone more and more often.
Writing erotica in itself is pretty wide of my comfort zone – at least it used to be. Over the last eleven years however, I have become at home with the smutty words and phrases I write- it is now the act of marketing my work that takes me out of my zone.
To write about myself, my work, to ‘BIG IT UP’ is so unlike me. Even carrying business cards with the words, ‘Kay Jaybee Erotica’ on them, is rather like hang gliding over enemy lines- even after over a decade.
Extreme bravery is required whenever I travel to London, Manchester or anywhere else, to read my erotica out loud to an audience. And when I teach workshops or writing classes- despite really looking forward to them- I know I will be the victim of sweaty palms and a nervous stomach!! (Next masterclass is at Cardiff, 3rd August- details here)
When I’m out in the world- at places like Eroticon- on a writer’s panel, answering any questions about the art of writing erotica, and what on earth made me do so in the first place, I have to think hard. The fear that I won’t be able to answer your questions is never far away. I’m just a writer good at sex scenes after all- what the hell do I know?
It is the question and answer sessions that make me more nervous than anything! What if I can’t answer the questions? What if I can’t hear the questions in the first place? What if? What if? For me, it is like being ten years old all over again, not understanding a word my English teacher just said to me! Yet, I know full well, that once I have done it. Once the panel is complete- I will have loved every second of it!
At a more local level, as more people become aware of what I do for a living, I find I am asked to step a toe out of my comfort zone here to. A few years ago for example, I found myself roped- with a huge amount of nerves- into being a model for a fantastic new boutique called Snob, at a fashion show in a local hotel. An excellent evening of jazz and singing could so easily have been spoilt by me falling off my gorgeous boots, or falling to turn, move in the right way, etc, etc, etc…..
To say the adrenalin was pumping puts it mildly- but, with hair that was styled into something that I can only describe as ‘French Aristocrat on the way to the guillotine’- held together with an ozone layers worth of hairspray and 37 bobby pins, I wiggled the hips and waggled my fingers in the words most beautiful mittens, and survived the experience! It was- as you’d imagine, good fun. So why do I get into such a state before hand!!?? Stage fright will be the death of me!!
At the last Tiverton Literary Festival in June, I did an after dinner floor show about ‘The Real Life of an Erotica Writer’- this included taking off many layers of clothes…Was I nervous? That doesn’t even cover it. And yet…yes. It was fantastic fun – you should have seen the raffle…(I am available for future bookings if you fancy a corporate event with a difference!)
It doesn’t matter what I do, or how far out of my comfort zone I step, I’m always going to suffer from stage fright. Once those lights go up however…I LOVE IT!
I’m off now to hide under my scarf, hat and dark glasses, to bustle my way through town, writing my naughty words under the cover of ‘woman writing shopping list’ in the corner of the library.
Happy reading,
Kay xxx
July 23, 2016
Take Control: An Erotic Experiment…
I’ve been battling a nasty virus for a while, and so am horribly behind with blogposts etc. To keep you all going while I dose up and doze, I thought I’d share a little bit of a story from Take Control– which takes you into the realm of Male Domination and Female Submission…
Blurb
Take Control: Stories of Male Domination/Female Submission is a collection of toe curlingly sexy tales of bondage and female submission from the pen of best selling writer Kay Jaybee. From a spankingly delicious Dinner With Tess, to a Staged public sex fantasy, an unforgettable alfresco hosing in Deluged, a kinky scientific Experiment, and the realisation of a long held threesome fantasy in The Necklace, Take Control offers five bite sized stories that will satisfy any lover quality erotica.
I’m going to tease you with a little taster today from The Experiment…
They would follow his instructions to the letter. That was what she had claimed. Still, he was suspicious. It was probably all a con, a devious way of playing on his growing obsession. But it might not be – it might be genuine – he might get to see what he longed to see…
A petite, traditionally dressed, stunningly beautiful Malaysian girl led him into a dimly lit room. The scientist dropped his briefcase next to a comfortable wing-backed armchair, behind which was a small but well-stocked bar. Suspended from the ceiling, a state of the art camcorder pointed forwards, poised and ready to record all that was to follow. Tastefully tame classical music was being piped into the room via a number of wall speakers; speakers which he hoped would reveal some far more interesting sounds in the very near future.
About a metre in front of the chair, a large picture window had been fitted neatly between that room and the next, creating both a theatre and private audience auditorium. A thick red curtain was drawn across the other side of the glass, so that as yet the voyeur could witness nothing from the space beyond.
The hostess, hovering by the bar, gestured to the various bottles of spirits with a questioning glance. He selected a whiskey and, shrugging off his jacket, waited as a triple measure of amber liquid was sloshed into a cut-glass tumbler. With the drink, the girl passed him a white envelope, on which was written The Story Thus Far.
He sat down, fumbling open the letter with hasty fingers, and his eyes devoured the words: Shortly you will see Gail and Jade. Both have been fully appraised as to your requirements. They have been placed within the neighbouring room, secured as per your instructions.
Before your arrival, again as you requested, the girls were subjected to considerable concentrated arousal to the breasts alone, and had nipple clamps applied. Both females are now desperate for further attention. We hope you enjoy the performance. Sit back, relax, and enjoy. The Malaysian girl bowed and left.
Making himself as comfortable as possible, he sat in the chair, satisfied that – so far, at least – his wishes had been carried out.
This whole thing was an experiment: an exercise to discover how much attention needed to be applied to a woman’s breasts alone before climax overtook the subject. Any resulting arousal of his own, he had convinced himself, was coincidental, and of secondary importance to the enquiry…
****
If you’d like to buy this e-book, it is available from Amazon UK, Amazon.com, and all good e-retailers. (It is also available for Kobo, Nook and on iTunes)
Happy reading
Kay xx
July 21, 2016
Erotica Workshop: Book Now!!
Hello reader and writer friends.
If you’ll recall, last October I blogged about preparing to put together a workshop to present to the good folk at Smut Manchester. I confess, I was nervous about teaching that class before the great and the good of the erotica world- but it turned out this need not have been the case. Not only was it great fun to sex up the supermarket with erotica- that session went on to inspire many short stories, and one novel- which is soon to be published by the lovely Kd Grace!
It is with a sense of delight therefore, that I can announce that thanks to the Xcite team, ‘Sexing the Ordinary’ (an adaption of the aforementioned Sexy Supermarket workshop), is hitting the road! I’m off to Cardiff to rub up those cucumbers, mould those cheese slices, and invent new and interesting uses for the frying pan…
I would love you to join me! So if you’ve always fancied a go at writing erotica (or any writing come to that), if you’ve been in the erotica business for years and want to discover a new angle, or if you just fancy a bit of fun, then you’ll be able to find me on 3rd August- 5.30-7pm, at the Octavo’s Book Cafe & Wine Bar – West Bute Street, Cardiff Bay, CF10 5LJ
Here’s the blurby bit-
Kay Jaybee began writing erotica 12 years ago because of a paper napkin. She learnt very quickly that the erotica which works best blends the mundane with an unknown factor; a certain something that twists the everyday into the sensual, the sexy, or the downright kinky.
Kay’s ‘Sexing the Ordinary’ workshop helps create future story triggers and stretch the creative imagination within the genre of erotica using familiar objects- within the realm of your local supermarket and beyond…
Kay’s light hearted writing workshops have become popular features of the annual Eroticon and Smut UK erotic writer and blogger events.
The Sexing the Ordinary workshop lasts approximately 90 minutes, and costs £10 per person.
You can find all the details, and book your ticket here- https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/sexing-the-ordinary-erotic-writing-masterclass-tickets-26605497760
This will be a light hearted evening full of inspiration and ideas- who knows, you could be following in Kd Grace’s footsteps and have a potential bestseller on your hands after just 90 minutes with my tinned pears…
All you need to bring with you is a pen, paper, (or a pre-charged laptop/tablet if you prefer), and an open mind.
Happy reading and writing everyone,
Kay xx
July 13, 2016
Happy Birthday to Me: Present for YOU!! #freebook @kay_jaybee
To help celebrate my birthday, I thought I’d put a smile on a few faces.
For the remainder of this week (including today), you will be able to download the brand new updated version of The Collector!!
With a hefty menu of different stories for every erotic taste, The Collector encounters the range of the erotic genre, to bring something for everyone. This is your chance to nibble at her kinky discoveries for FREE!!
BLURB-
Gathering salaciously erotic stories against an everyday backdrop of coffee shops, restaurants and bus trips, The Collector documents a wide variety of sexual encounters as she travels across Great Britain.
The Collector’s research takes her into every arena of the erotic experience, from lust, submission and dominance, to voyeurism and beyond.
Are you brave enough to see if it was your supposedly private conversation she overheard—and then wrote down?
You can grab this special- 5 day only- deal from Amazon at-
http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01EVVGYB2?ref_=pe_2427780_160035660
OR
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01EVVGYB2?ref_=pe_2427780_160035660
While you are tucking into your free anthology, I’m off to munch on a bit of birthday cake!
Enjoy!!
Happy reading,
Kay xxx
July 10, 2016
Kd Grace’s Blog Tour Day 6: Vampires and Consent
I’m delighted to welcome my dear friend, Kd Grace, to my site today!!
Over to you Kd,
Giveaway: To help me celebrate the launch of Landscapes, I’m giving away a $30/£20 Amazon gift voucher. Enter via the Rafflecopter for chances to win!
Vampires and Consent
Thanks so much for hosting me, Kay, on Day 6 of my Landscapes blog tour and giveaway! It’s always a pleasure to spend time at yours, talking writing and characters and scheming world conquest. Today I want to talk about vampires who AREN’T safe to cuddle – one in particular.
In Landscapes, dubious consent is intrinsic to the tale I’m telling, and it’s definitely uncomfortable for some readers. It was uncomfortable for me to write. That Alonso’s strange method of courting and seducing mortal Reese Chambers is disturbing is crucial to the story. How could it be otherwise when Alonso is a vampire and his familiar and best friend is a succubus? I’m always a bit stunned with vampire stories in which the mortal and the vamp fall right into a relationship like two humans would – no biggie that one of them is an alpha predator in a seriously huge alpha way. Isn’t that a bit like walking into a pride of lions with the idea of joining the dinner party – as something other than the main course, I mean?
I don’t mind that vampires vary widely from Bram Stoker’s original to Ann Rice’s Lestat to Buffy’s Angel, to Let the Right One In, to J. R. Ward’s Black Dagger Brotherhood. What I do mind is the defanging of vampires, the “cozy-noveling” of vampires – sorry, but making them sparkle doesn’t do it for me, making them nicey-nice is a contradiction of basic character. Attraction to a vampire, in my opinion, is a bit like that attraction we all have to lions or wolves. Yes! They are beautiful, they’re gorgeous, but they ARE predators. Yes! We want to touch them, to have them touch us! But are they safe and cuddly? Hell no! And if they turn their attention fully on us mere mortals, our natural response, like any prey to predator, is to either freeze like a rabbit in the headlights or to run like hell. Alonso knows this, and the one thing he doesn’t want is to give Reese any reason to run. I’ve been scratched and bitten by cats I adored. I’ve nearly had my arms scratched off trying to flea bathe a small fluffy kitten. Yes! Predators are dangerous and the bottom line is that’s part of what draws us to them. It’s a part of what makes the vampire, the werewolf, and the demon so attractive in literature and in entertainment. Yes, we love them and want them, but how could consent ever be anything but dubious where a paranormal being is concerned?
The truth is, we don’t want to tame them. The truth is we want to somehow experience them and their world without completely losing our own. The other side of that truth – certainly in Alonso’s case, is that the tenuous connection to another mortal, who might easily be lunch, is a connection to his lost humanity, one he holds very dear, one he doesn’t fully trust. That being the case, he sends out his familiar, the succubus, Talia Zephora, to make love to Reese in his stead and to bring back that experience for him to relive when he makes love to her, when he shares blood with her. Then, in turn, he sends Talia with her experience of him back to make love to Reese. Of course Reese doesn’t know any of this, and the price of the lie will cost Alonso dearly.
The story I wanted to share was a story in Landscapes is the tale of a being who doesn’t trust himself with his own feelings, a being who has withdrawn enough from the world that to interact on the level of getting to know someone, of courting someone — as he would see it, to interact with the idea that the resulting connection might lead to sex, that it might lead to even something more, is simply out of his realm of imagining. For him it’s been that long since he’s connected with that level of intimacy. And yet, at the end of the day, Alonso Darlington is a hopeless romantic. There’s something he senses in Reese Chambers that aroused needs in him that go much deeper than a good hard shag. There’s something instinctual that tells him Reese Chambers just might be a kindred spirit. His desire to know the man is just too much to resist, so he sends Talia to an unsuspecting Reese in order to keep him safe.
Landscapes Blurb:
Alonso Darlington has a disturbing method of keeping landscaper, Reese Chambers, both safe from and oblivious to his dangerous lust for the man. But Reese isn’t easy to keep secrets from, and Alonso wants way more than to admire the man from afar. Can he risk a real relationship without risking Reese’s life?
Buy links: http://kdgrace.co.uk/books/landscapes/
Landscapes Excerpt:
It was nearing dawn when Talia returned to our accommodations smelling of sex, as I knew she would if she were to obtain for me what I wanted. By then my blood burned in my veins, and my body felt too close to me, as though the flesh that I dwelt in suddenly conspired to crush me with its demands. And though I knew that Reese Chambers could not have refused her even if she had come to him as a toothless, foul-smelling hag, I hated her that he had poured himself into her body while I had been left with only my fantasies kindling my lust to an inferno.
Though my need was such that my flesh was fevered and my cock an insistent throb, until she returned, I held myself contained within skin that felt too thin. When she saw the state that I was in, she pulled the heavy drapes with an efficient tug, then with a nod of her head, motioned me to follow her down into the basement room that had been prepared for me. When she turned to me at the foot of the bed, before she could opened her kiss-bruised lips to speak, I took her mouth, starving for the first taste of him, the taste of his saliva, the taste of his blood, mixed with hers. She’d bitten him; he’d bitten her back. He was rough, and he liked to be treated rough, but he kept that to himself. He was embarrassed by it. His lips were slightly chapped from so much time in the sun and wind, and they’d slid against hers, suckling and stroking and pressing until her mouth opened to his. With ravenous laps of my tongue, I tasted him in her mouth, and she held back the moan of response, so I could hear the echoes of his groans, heavy with need he’d not satisfied in awhile, and I felt kinship in my own unsatisfied needs. Images of him flashed through my head. Christ, his eyes were green, dark green like the evergreen forests of the north, and he kept them open when he kissed her, taking her in with his eyes.
I shoved aside the silk of her low bodice exposing her breasts, breasts that his hands had cupped. My nipples peeked to sharp aching points at the feel of his calloused thumbs raking, pressing and releasing. I breathed in his scent on her breasts, burying my face in her cleavage, licking the taste of salty, slightly picante maleness, sniffing and tasting until I could stand it no more. In one violent jerk, I tore the dress all the way down and shoved it off her shoulders, away from the flesh he had licked and kissed and mounted. I cried out at the feel of him, weight on one elbow, knee spreading her thighs, fingers opening her heaviness, anxious to penetrate, anxious to relieve his need. And then, with Talia free of clothing, Reese Chambers’ essence filled the room. Talia’s panties were still wet with his semen mixed with her humid desire, and I tore them from her and forced her onto her stomach, onto her hands and knees, so that it was not her face I saw, but his that I imagined. With hands on her hips, I raised her bottom in the air and spread her still swollen, still slippery folds with fingers made awkward by my arousal, letting the scent of his hot bread and honey release intoxicate me. Then I buried my face in her snatch and, as I ate his lust from her, I knew him.
He was Cumbrian born and bred, and his accent was the soft lilting sound of the fells. He was a landscaper and a gardener by trade. His hands held the magic of the earth and his mind conceived ideas for beautiful outdoor spaces; those he liked best were patterned after Renaissance and medieval gardens. He was homesick and heartsick. He’d gone to Surrey to work with his father because the money was good. But his father had died recently and he had returned home to Cumbria. He didn’t care if he had to work in a pub or muck stables. He wanted to be home. He missed the people and he missed the fells. He missed the simpler, more honest rhythms of life. He was shy, even a bit reclusive. He read voraciously and widely, he liked astronomy and he was afraid of snakes, though it embarrassed him to admit it. He hadn’t had sex in a long time, and found it better to have a wank session than a meaningless encounter. The facts of him, the details of his life raced at me in a flood I consumed ravenously with each lap of my tongue.
As I ate Talia I felt the shape of his face, the curve of his chin, the rise and fall of his chest as he had done the same. I felt the soft tuft of bronze curls nestled between the hard rise of his pecs and the courser, deeper curls that caressed his testicles and his cock when it was at rest, but it hadn’t been at rest. How many times had he taken her? He was thick enough to fill her and the friction of him inside was delicious and maddening. The shape of him – I wanted to caress the shape of him, with my hands, with my mouth, and the taking of his essence from Talia was an act of ripping away something that should have been mine. As I bruised her arse with kneading fingers and, as I licked the last of his release from her, she managed a breathless moan. ‘Take the rest. God, Alonso, take the rest, and release me.’
About K D Grace/Grace Marshall
Voted ETO Best Erotic Author of 2014, and a proud member of The Brit Babes, K D Grace believes Freud was right. In the end, it really IS all about sex, well sex and love. And nobody’s happier about that than she is, otherwise, what would she write about?
When she’s not writing, K D is veg gardening. When she’s not gardening, she’s walking. She walks her stories, and she’s serious about it. She and her husband have walked Coast to Coast across England, along with several other long-distance routes. For her, inspiration is directly proportionate to how quickly she wears out a pair of walking boots. She also enjoys martial arts, reading, watching the birds and anything that gets her outdoors.
KD has erotica published with SourceBooks, Xcite Books, Harper Collins Mischief Books, Mammoth, Cleis Press, Black Lace,Sweetmeats Press and others.
K D’s critically acclaimed erotic romance novels include, The Initiation of Ms Holly, Fulfilling the Contract, To Rome with Lust, and The Pet Shop. Her paranormal erotic novel, Body Temperature and Rising, the first book of her Lakeland Witches trilogy, was listed as honorable mention on Violet Blue’s Top 12 Sex Books for 2011. Books two and three, Riding the Ether, and Elemental Fire, are now also available.
K D Grace also writes hot romance as Grace Marshall. An Executive Decision, Identity Crisis, The Exhibition, Interviewing Wade are all available.
Find K D Here:
Websites: http://kdgrace.co.uk/
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/KDGraceAuthor
Twitter: https://twitter.com/KD_Grace
GIVEAWAY!
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Many thanks for dropping by on your tour today hun,
Happy reading,
Kay xx
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