Kay Jaybee's Blog, page 62
June 19, 2015
Text Sex: Making Him Wait
Ever since the introduction of mobile or cell phones into our lives, texting has become a way of life. Erotic stories involving text sex were bound to follow in the wake of this phenomena as, let’s face it, text sex is a lot of fun, and can be very kinky!
I have written a number of stories that have included texts, such as Perks of the Job (Tricks For Kicks, Xcite) and Not Her Type (1001 NightsPress). It was so much fun to add this textual dimension of communication to my tales. These stories were so well received that I was determined to make text conversations an integral part of my novel, Making Him Wait.
Blurb- Maddie Templeton has always been an unconventional artist. Themes of submission and domination pulse through her erotic artwork, and she’s happily explored these lustful themes both on and off the canvas.
But, when Theo Hunter enters her life, she is presented with a new challenge. Maddie sets out to test his resolve as she teases, torments and toys with him. But, as Maddie drives Theo to breaking point, she soon becomes unsure whether her own resolve will hold out!
At the same time, Maddie must put on the exhibition of a lifetime. As the hottest gallery in town clamours for her best work, Maddie pushes her models harder and higher until they are physically, sexually and emotionally exhausted. Will Maddie’s models continue to submit to her, or will she push them too far? And will she be ready for the exhibition in time?
The only way to find out is to wait and see…and the waiting only makes it sweeter!
****
Theo is normally very much in control of his life, but after he visits Maddie’s studio in the curse of his job as an electrician to install some new lighting, he quickly finds himself obsessed with both her, and the sheer weight of the eroticism that seems to ooze out of the art that covers the walls.
Maddie, a master of the art of self-control, has an exhibition to put together for the recently re-opened Striped Banana gallery, and although she is keen to have some fun with Theo, she is determined create all the new works of art she needs first. At the same time however, Maddie has no intention of letting Theo lose interest in her while her energy is required elsewhere…
So what better way to lure Theo with promises of breath-taking sex than via text messaged conversations- and then making him wait for answers to his texts…?
Extract
Ignoring the buzz of her mobile phone, Maddie placed the worn stub of charcoal to the side of her easel and took a step back from the girl before her.
Maddie nodded with approval as her newest model – a petite blonde – flexed the muscles she’d been keeping stock still for the previous half hour.
“Control, Freya – at least the appearance of control – is everything.” The artist reached out an affectionate hand to her muse.
Freya rocked a little on her bare feet as Maddie touched her lightly freckled cheek. “No need to look so worried, honey. You are doing brilliantly. It’s a difficult pose to hold for so long.”
“Thank you.” Blushing an endearing shade of pink, Freya lowered the hands she’d nervously clenched before her, giving her employer another chance to see the neat triangle of her semi-shaved pussy.
Maddie, her jeans and t-shirt smeared and spattered with all the mediums of her trade, did not feel the need to mention to Freya that her own knickers were sodden, nor that beneath her holster bra, her nipples were rock hard.
A further buzz from her mobile alerted Maddie to the arrival of another text message. In fact a steady string of muffled noises from her mobile, coming from the pit of her handbag, had been announcing the arrival of texts every ten minutes or so throughout the morning.
Smiling to herself, Maddie continued to disregard her phone and considered the exquisite outline of her companion’s porcelain frame. Most people came to Maddie to be drawn or painted, sometimes as a commission for a lover, husband or wife. Some, however, like Freya, came to the studio as a way of improving their self-confidence. Despite her generally shy demeanour, Freya had proved to be very good at posing as Maddie required and the artist had offered her an occasional job as a life model.
Sometimes Maddie felt she was more therapist than artist – specifically a sex therapist – as men and women alike shared their most intimate secrets while standing on the other side of her easel. Maddie’s studio certainly had the air of an erotic fantasy confessional about it. She wasn’t complaining, however. No other life would do for her now. The job satisfaction Maddie achieved from listening to the dreams and fantasies of others while she recreated them onto canvas, went hand in glove with the personal physical gratification it gave her.
Money being either plentiful or non-existent, depending on the current success of her commissions and sales, Maddie had been forced to develop an alternative form of payment for her models – a reward system for good work. Maddie could tell from the rise and fall of Freya’s chest and the glistening damp skin at the top of her thighs, that she was more than ready to be paid for today’s session.
Closing in on her model, Maddie simultaneously cupped Freya’s slick pussy and left breast with her charcoal-blackened hands, causing an involuntary shiver to ripple through the younger woman’s body.
“Your progress really is outstanding, honey. Few of my models can stay as motionless as you can.” Congratulating Freya on her skill, Maddie left two dark palm prints on the girl’s tits and tapped at the inside of her legs. “Open up. I think you have deserved a treat after all your hard work.”
Gliding her palm over Freya’s mound, Maddie slipped a gentle finger into the slippery canal of the model’s frantically clutching sex, enjoying the murmured mew of contentment that escaped from her lipstick-free mouth.
Pumping gently, the artist brought Freya close to orgasm with steady increases and decreases of pressure – her own mind straying to her mobile. Maddie wondered where Theo was and what he was doing. She knew what he was thinking about. She always knew that. Theo thought about her.
Pushing her happily sex-drugged model onto an armchair, Maddie’s own arousal kicked up a notch as she bent to lick Freya’s nub, swiftly bringing her to the dawn of a shuddering release.
While continuing to take pleasure in the sweet taste of another woman on her lips, Maddie considered how she’d phrase her responses to all the messages Theo had sent and how she’d tell him precisely what and who had held up her replies.
Inhaling Freya’s climactic scent, Maddie’s hands roamed up and over the small, orgasm-jacked body, her thoughts still with Theo. His work-calloused right hand was probably on his dick at that very moment. A heady hit of power consumed Maddie – a power as intense as the climax of the woman panting hard in the chair before her.
Maddie loved making him wait…
*****
Very quickly, Maddie has Theo exactly where she wants him- at the centre of an unpredictable waiting game. But Theo isn’t always sure what he’s waiting for- and every time he thinks he’s about to get what he wants, Maddie changes the rules, and Theo finds himself having to wait all over again.
As time passes however, and Maddie needs Theo’s help to get her exhibition complete on time, the artist finds she isn’t getting everything her own way. Is it possible that in Theo Hunter, Maddie Templeton has finally met her match?
If you would like to buy Making Him Wait to find out what happens to Theo and Maddie, it is available as a paperback or e-book from all good retailers, including…
Amazon UK – http://www.amazon.co.uk/Making-Him-Wait-Kay-Jaybee/dp/190918117X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1352239259&sr=8-1
Happy reading,
Kay xx
jenny hendrix fucked by voodoo
Guest Blog: Siobhan Daiko (@FCourtesans)
Thank you for hosting me on your blog, Kay. I’m delighted to share my new release with you and your readers. Veronica: Fragrant Courtesans Book One is an erotic novella is inspired by the life of Veronica Franco, a historical courtesan who was born in Venice in 1546. The idea of writing about one of these celebrated high-class entertainers of men came to me when I was researching my romantic historical novel Lady of Asolo, which is also set in Venice. My editor, John Hudspith, liked the way I conveyed gritty realism in the erotic scenes in Lady of Asolo, and I must admit I’ve come to love writing this genre. Highly educated at a time in history when most women were barely literate, Veronica was a talented poet and writer. Her feisty, forward personality shines out of her poems and letters; she makes the perfect protagonist. In the following excerpt, Veronica is preparing to receive the King of France. The historical Veronica did, in fact, entertain the French monarch, and even wrote two sonnets addressed to him. But what passed between them in my story is purely a product of my cheeky imagination, helped by Veronica’s imaginative use of Murano glass. I’m now working on book two in the series, which will be set in 6th Century Constantinople.
Excerpt
He does ask for me, heavily encouraged by his entourage I’m told. It seems they are concerned he might still be a virgin, for he’s never been seen with a woman. Who better than Veronica Franco, the most sought-after courtesan in Venice, to deflower him?
This evening, he’s at a banquet in the Fondaco dei Turchi, following which Andrew will bring him here. In the meantime, I’m preparing myself. The King’s night of love must be truly memorable.
Lena is helping me. This afternoon she bathed me in rose-scented water then plucked my figa free of hair. She curled my tresses and threaded them with strands of silver and gold, my only adornments. My breath has been fragranced with mint, and I’ve rubbed honey on my nub in anticipation. If ’tis true that the King has never bedded a woman before, I shall teach him where to put his tongue and find my sweetness. My nipples, rouged ready for the King, stiffen in expectation.
Blurb
I watch him watching us, imagining how he would take me.
I send him the message with my eyes.
This is who I am.
I am Veronica Franco.
I am a COURTESAN.
I court the cultural elite for fame and fortune, giving my body to many.
And I’m good. So very good. After all, I was taught by my mother, and mother always knows best.
How else to please the future King of France than with the imaginative use of Murano glass? How else to fulfil the desires of all yet keep my sense of self-worth?
But when disaster strikes and my life begins to unravel, I’ll have to ask myself one question:
Is it too late to give my heart to just one man?
Set in Venice 16th Century.
Advisory: sensuously erotic. 18+
Buy links
Amazon Kindle: http://viewbook.at/Veronica_FC1
Paperback: http://viewbook.at/Veronica_pb
Author Bio
Siobhan Daiko is an author of romantic historical fiction and a new series of erotic novellas featuring famous courtesans – strong women who held their own in a man’s world. A lover of all things Italian, Siobhan lives in the Veneto region of northern Italy with her husband and two cats. After a life of romance and adventure in Hong Kong, Australia and the UK she now spends her time, when she isn’t writing, enjoying the dolce vita near Venice.
Social Media/Web links
www.siobhandaiko.wordpress.com
www.fragrantpublishing.com
Facebook Page
Fragrant Courtesans Facebook
Amazon Author Page
Twitter
GIVEAWAY!
Make sure to follow the whole tour—the more posts you visit throughout, the more chances you’ll get to enter the giveaway. The tour dates are here: http://www.writermarketing.co.uk/prpromotion/blog-tours/currently-on-tour/siobhan-daiko/
June 17, 2015
Release Blitz from Cleis Press: Heart Meets Mind, Best Lesbian Romance of the Year
Best Lesbian Romance of the Year, Volume 1, is Radclyffe’s seventh term editing the Best Lesbian Romance series!
“[Radclyffe] presents a view of lesbian life that isn’t common yet, but is growing.” —Straight Arrow Reviews
Romance is as eternally new as the unique connection between lovers, and so too these eighteen stories of attraction, desire, and passion from best-selling romance authors JL Merrow, Sacchi Green, Giselle Renarde, D. Jackson Leigh, Teresa Noelle Roberts, Radclyffe and others. The stories in Best Lesbian Romance 2015 will have you falling in love with love all over again. A celebration of the swooning sensation of a first crush, the dizzying feel of a first touch and the raw electric elation of sexual passion are all captured here. Radclyffe, the highly lauded romance novelist and master editor always covers the full range of lesbian love- a real spectrum of experience with plenty of room for passion and possibility, as praised by The Advocate, “Every story the human heart can tell.”
Extract
Waterfall by LT Masters
She propped herself up on her elbow, her head resting on the palm of her hand. “I always go for a swim first thing in the morning. Wanna join me? The water would be good for your ankle.”
She tossed me my T-shirt, helped me to my feet and knelt down to inspect my ankle. It was still tender but nothing like the day before. “You should be able to walk today as long as it’s not too far.”
Seeing her in front of me on her knees was having the kind of effect I wouldn’t want her to see. I took a step back, hoping that she hadn’t noticed the wet spot forming in my panties. The heat in her eyes told me she had definitely noticed. I looked away and motioned toward the river. I leaned on her and hobbled to the river. Seeing the waterfall up close in the early morning light was mesmerizing, like something out of a fantasy movie. The water spilled over the edge of massive boulders, crashing into the pool below. The rocks, the crystal-blue water. It was…
“Breathtaking, huh? Come on,” she said, grabbing my hand, pulling me forward. “Let’s swim.”
“I can’t,” I said. “No swimsuit.”
She released my hand and laughed as she pulled her sports bra off. “No need.”
My mouth fell open as she stripped off her clothes and dove into the water. Her body was so beautiful, muscular and golden brown. I watched as she swam to the pool beneath the waterfall.
“Hurry,” she yelled, waving to me.
Remembering that I hadn’t experienced anything similar to a shower in three days, I quickly stripped off the T-shirt and thong and joined her in the water. She’d already seen me topless. Hell, she’d spent the night in the same sleeping bag with me in nothing but my thong. At least in the water I’d be submerged. The icy-cold water made me gasp but it soothed my aching body as I swam to meet her, and I felt refreshed.
“This is the first time I’ve been here with someone.”
“Really?” I said. “What’s so special about this place?”
“Let me show you.” She swam to where the water was falling into the pool.
I swam closely behind her, and when she disappeared under the surface I did too. The water was pounding into the pool, creating a magical sea of bubbles underwater. I swam fast to keep up with her, trying not to stare at the long, shapely legs or firm ass in front of me. Within seconds we surfaced.
She lifted herself from the water and leaned over to help me.
“What is this place?” I asked.
“Nature’s canvas.”
I stood in awe, trembling, hugging myself. We were in a massive cave behind the waterfall, shut away from the outside world. Glimmers of sharp sunlight slipped through the cascading water, illuminating and reflecting off the stone walls. On the other side of the waterfall the water drained from the pool, splashing over the rocks, creating a small stream that lazily cut its way down the mountainside. The rocks we stood on were polished smooth and I slipped a little as I turned to look around.
“Careful,” she teased, “don’t aggravate your injury.”
Playfully she grabbed my hands, lacing her fingers between mine. Dangerously close, I attempted to move away from her, but my back was pressed firm against the cold stone wall. She kept hold of my hand and moved with me. I shivered from the chill of the stones and the excitement of her warm body pressed against mine.
“Are you scared?” She gazed at me, her eyes hungry and full of desire.
“No,” I lied.
She lowered her gaze to my erect nipples pressed firmly against her breasts. My fleshy pale 38Cs pushed flat against her much smaller breasts and her bronzed, muscular chest made an interesting sight. The contrast was…sexy. Hot. Erotic…
***
Buy links
http://www.cleispress.com/book_page.php?book_id=659
***
Happy reading,
Kay x
June 13, 2015
Curious to the Core!
I’m often asked what the major driving force of inspiration is behind my writing. There are many things that influence me; overheard conversations, musical lyrics, friend’s fantasies; but at the very back of all that is a basic curiosity- a curiosity that always wants to know what is going on beyond my point of vision!
Not that I’m an eye to the keyhole sort of person (like Maggie in my story Through the Crack; Quick Kink Two). Nor would there be any point in me jamming my ear to the crack in the door (I’m deaf as a post); it’s more that I can’t stop my imagination from filling in the blanks. I just simply can’t stop from musing over what ‘might be’ going on. What could be happening, is often so much more interesting than what is happening!
What could the top floor of a nearby hotel really contain? Is it full of nice normal bedrooms, in which tired out members of the business community can crash after a meeting? Or is it, as in my series, The Perfect Submissive Trilogy, a hotbed of private services and kinky sex?
When you see a sign on a lift saying ‘staff only’ where does that lift actually take you? When they announce over the loud speakers in the shop or club ‘Would a member of staff come to the storeroom,’ what happens when they get there? Are they sold to aliens for experimentation? Is there some erotically eccentric Sheik waiting to whisk them away to his harem? I always hope they aren’t just going to do something as dull as unpack boxes. I want them to have as much fun as the bar girls, and the young man they lure into their storeroom, in my story Break Time (The Collector)
When you meet a stranger on the train; a stranger who catches your eye and sends your pulse racing- what would happen if you asked them out? Would you have coffee, maybe visit the cinema- or would you find yourself in the backroom of an exclusive club, doing sexually interesting things you hadn’t ever dreamt about, like the lead character in my story Black? (Yes Ma’am)
So basically I’m curious- or should that be nosily inquisitive- but only for what might happen- not for what really is happening- it’s far more fun that way!!
Happy Reading
Kay xx
June 8, 2015
Guest Blog from Lily Harlem: Toy Boy
I’m pleased to be able to bring you some hot information about Lily Harlem’s latest short read!!
I should point out that any women called Kay within this story are entirely fictional!!!
***
Toy Boy by Lily Harlem is out now on general release. It’s a short, sexy novel about an older woman and a younger man (you guessed that right?) and is set in Greece. Here’s the low down…
Back cover information
Getting something unexpected can be a shock, but it can also be a wonderful treat, if you allow yourself to indulge, that is.
Kay is bubbling with excitement. She’s booked a sailing holiday of a lifetime in Greece with a man she’s fallen for hook, line and sinker. They met on the Internet. She’s from Oxford, he’s from Washington State. She’s a business lecturer, he runs his own successful business.
They’re perfect for each other, and she can’t wait to meet him and spend time in and out of his bed, allowing him to seduce her for real and not just with softly spoken words over the telephone.
But when she arrives in the idyllic port of Fiscardo, she’s in for a shock. There’s a reason Sullivan’s photographs were grainy, and it’s not because he’s sporting a potbelly or balding as she’d suspected. It’s because he’s over a decade younger than her and could rival any Greek god in the looks department. What’s more, his sex appeal and lust for her is off the scale.
Should Kay take what she can with her ‘toy boy’ and have some fun in the sun or hop on the first plane back to England? It’s a tricky decision for a woman who believed she couldn’t be surprised by life anymore.
Buy from Totally Bound and all other good ebook retailers. Links here.
Excerpt – first few pages
“Kick off your shoes, shed your clothes along with your inhibitions and indulge yourself in a sensual adventure.”
“Wow! What a story!”
“What can I say but off the charts HOT!”
“Another fantastic book by Lily Harlem, she does such a great job on describing the characters and the place I could smell the sea and felt like I was on an island in Greece.”
“A new romance book by Lily Harlem – no other words are needed, you just know it’s going to be fabulous.”
“Simply a beautiful, sexy, smile-inducing story that you will want to read over and over.”
“An absolutely perfect book to read whilst pool side or lounging on a sun deck.”
Oh the sun, the sea, the sex! Lily has a way of writing that puts you in the book. Her descriptions of Greek Islands had me day-dreaming I was on a boat, feel the wind and sun on my face, could smell the charcoal fires from the harbour side café’s and taste the olives and wine.
About Lily Harlem
Lily Harlem lives in the UK and is an award-winning, multi-published author of contemporary erotic romance. She writes for publishers on both sides of the Atlantic including HarperCollins, Totally Bound, Xcite, Ellora’s Cave and Sweetmeats Press. Her Hot Ice series regularly receives high praise and industry nominations.
Before turning her hand to writing Lily Harlem worked as a trauma nurse and her latest HarperCollins release, Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse, draws on her many experiences while nursing in London. Lily also self-publishes and The Silk Tie, The Glass Knot, In Expert Hands and Scored have been blessed with many 5* reviews since their release.
Lily writes MF, MM and ménage a trois, her books regularly hit the #1 spot on Amazon Best Seller lists and Breathe You In was named a USA Today Reviewer’s Recommended Read of 2014. Her latest MM novel is Dark Warrior.
Lily also co-authors with Natalie Dae and publishes under the name Harlem Dae – check out the Sexy as Hell Box Set available exclusively on Amazon – The Novice, The Player and The Vixen – and That Filthy Book which has been hailed as a novel ‘every woman should read’.
One thing you can be sure of, whatever book you pick up by Ms Harlem, is it will be wildly romantic and down-and-dirty sexy. Enjoy!
Lily Harlem Links
Website http://www.lilyharlem.com/
Blog http://www.lilyharlem.blogspot.com/
Twitter https://twitter.com/lily_harlem
Facebook https://www.facebook.com/lily.harlem
Facebook author page https://www.facebook.com/LilyHarlemAuthor
Pinterest http://pinterest.com/lilyharlem/
Raw Talent http://rawtalentseries.co.uk
BritBabes http://thebritbabes.blogspot.co.uk
Hockey Romance http://www.hockeyromance.com
Newsletter Subscription http://www.lilyharlem.com/newsletter-subscription.html
Hot Ice https://www.facebook.com/hoticeseries
Google+ https://plus.google.com/u/0/106837751333678531161/posts
Harlem Dae http://www.harlemdae.com
Goodreads http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4070110.Lily_Harlem
***
Thanks for popping by today Lily!
Happy reading,
Kay xx
Guest Blog: Charlotte Howard
Thanks for hosting! Today I thought I’d give readers an insight into the life of a writer.
I bet you think that I wake up, fresh as a daisy, and spend the day in my home office hidden in a world of romance and intrigue. Perhaps there is a mug of freshly ground coffee sat by a plate of freshly baked croissants, all in front of a large window that overlooks a vast garden, or perhaps the sea or a forest. Ha! I wish. That’s exactly how I pictured being a writer when I published my first novel.
Seven Dirty Words has been re-released by Tirgearr Publishing this year, and dreams of working in my PJs, with an entourage of PAs, PR assistants, an agent and personal editor have been well and truly dashed. I don’t get invited to expensive lunches at top-notch hotels. I don’t have a gazillion fans lining the streets waiting to have their book signed.
My home office is my front room. Writing this, I am sat in front of the TV while my two kids play Worms on the Xbox and a kitten is batting my ponytail. My laptop is a refurbished machine that my husband managed to a good deal on, and has been decorated in Star Wars stickers. I’m writing this post today, because tomorrow I return to work after spending half-term on Brownie camp. No PA is going to do it for me. No PR assistant has booked me in for a signing, and no fans are constantly bombarding me with Facebook friend requests.
Tomorrow, I will do the school run, go to the gym, write a chapter of Educating Miss Beauchamp (my next novel!), and go to work. I’ll come home, feed the kids – maybe the husband – and walk the dog. I’ll put the kids to bed, sit down in my “home office” and write another chapter while the husband plays on the Xbox, email a few reviewers, maybe update Twitter and Facebook with a buy link, and be in bed with a cup of tea and an episode of Bones or Castle by 10pm. The day after that, I’ll do it all again.
I’m still hoping that one day I’ll be a multi-best-selling author, globe-trotting to meet my adoring readers, taking selfies with the likes of Sylvia Day and EL James, and fighting over the film rights to my latest book. But until then, I’ll see you all at the next SmutFest, or Literary Festival, mingling with the other authors who work their butts off to get noticed.
Don’t feel sorry for me though, and please don’t think I’m depressed or begrudge my life! On the contrary, I’m lucky that I get to work part-time so that I can concentrate on my writing. I’m lucky to have an understanding and supportive family. But I’ve already fulfilled the dream of becoming a published author, and so now I dream of bigger things. Of being on the Sunday Times, USA Today, and New York Times best sellers lists.
Excerpt:
A couple of hours later, I woke to the sound of male voices chatting and laughing in the room below mine. I stood carefully, straining to hear the topic of conversation. I caught the words “money”, “sport” and “pavilion,” and knew instantly that TDS was in my childhood home.
Suddenly, I yearned to see him again. But, glancing in the full-length mirror by the door that led to my en suite bathroom, I saw that I was in no fit state to be speaking to handsome older men.
Dishevelled was an understatement. My hair resembled a bird’s nest, my eyes had purple rings underneath them, and the stench of sweat and sickness leaked from my pores.
I dragged myself to the bathroom, switching on the shower and letting the water run until it was almost scalding. My body trembled with a cold that only I felt. A hot shower was desperately needed. Before long, clouds of steam billowed over the top of the glass doors, informing me that it was time to cleanse away the illness that stuck to me like goosegrass.
Blurb & Buy Links:
Paige Holmes hides herself in a masculine world in a desperate attempt to remain safe.
Just as she is ready to face her fears and her past, she finds herself torn between Matt Jackson and Vance Ellery: handsome, rich, and safe – or handsome, rich, and dangerous?
Which will she choose?
The one who appears to be the most perfect, or the one who makes her use all Seven Dirty Words?
Buy links:
Tirgearr Publishing: http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Howard_Charlotte/seven-dirty-words.htm
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1ExJtUx
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1dy702q
Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/seven-dirty-words-charlotte-howard/1114293556
Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/seven-dirty-words-3
iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/seven-dirty-words/id992996036
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/541059?ref=cw1985
Bio & Social Media Links:
My career as a writer started when I was young, writing poetry and flash fiction for my friends and family. After a few minor successes of having pieces published in anthologies, and later on-line, I decided to have a go at writing a full-length novel. My first attempt was a bit of a disaster, but after years of practice, I finally got that coveted First Contract. Since then, I’ve written several more novels and short stories, and I don’t intend to retire for at least another 50 years.
Charlotte lives in Somerset with her husband, two children, and growing menagerie of pets and can always be found with a cup of tea in her hand. When she’s not writing or running around after small people and animals, she loves to eat curry and watch action films.
Charlotte is an active (and vocal) member of the Yeovil Creative Writers.
http://www.charlottehowardauthor.co.uk
http://choward2614.wordpress.com
http://www.facebook.com/charlottehowardauthor
http://www.facebook.com/chowardauthor
http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Howard_Charlotte/index.htm
http://www.twitter.com/shy_tiger
https://www.pinterest.com/choward2614/
https://instagram.com/choward_author/
GIVEAWAY!
Make sure to follow the whole tour—the more posts you visit throughout, the more chances you’ll get to enter the giveaway. The tour dates are here: http://www.writermarketing.co.uk/prpromotion/blog-tours/currently-on-tour/charlotte-howard-3/
May 31, 2015
Enjoying Dinner With Tess
When I began to write erotica ten years ago I concentrated on writing short sexy stories, particularly short kinky tales of the BDSM persuasion, many of which include one of my most favourite things- a good spanking!
There is something salaciously delicious about communicating, through a story, the relinquishing of power required by the target of any spanking session, not to mention the flush of power and responsibility of trust taken on my the spanker.
Published by 1001 NightsPress (the home of my incredibly kinky courier novella, Not Her Type), my anthology, Take Control: Stories of Male Domination/Female Submission includes one of my favourite spanking stories, Dinner With Tess.
Here’s a tasty extract for you…
…Jon’s laughing voice echoed through the hallway and into the kitchen, as Tess went to greet his friends.
‘Here she is,’ Jon’s arm swept around his girlfriend, ‘Tess, meet Jack and Ed, my friends from the club.’
‘Hello,’ she spoke clearly, trying to cover her shyness. As she shook their hands, Tess couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable by the way they looked at her. It was as if they were assessing her in some way, and she suddenly felt very aware of the shortness of her denim skirt and the thinness of her white cotton blouse.
‘Most lovely,’ Jack nodded approvingly at Jon.
‘She’ll do well’ Ed’s eyes x-rayed Tess as he spoke.
A private shiver shot up Tess’s spine. Do well for what?
Jon ushered the new arrivals into the living room, whilst Tess gratefully fled to the safety of the vast kitchen. She was so preoccupied by the image of Ed’s hungry expression, that when Jon quietly came in and touched her shoulder, she jumped in surprise.
‘Meeting good?’ Tess asked as she checked the progress of the vegetables.
‘Excellent, we’ve organised a photography competition.’ Jon ran a hand under his lovers’ skirt, and stroked a finger between her naked legs. ‘Good girl, you remembered the no underwear rule.’
Tess looked towards the door in alarm. ‘Jon, don’t. Someone might come in.’
‘So?’
‘So, I don’t want them to see.’
‘Why not?’
‘Jon!’ Tess’s face coloured, but her flesh responded instantly, as his expert finger rubbed against her clit.
‘Bend over.’ Jon patted one of the kitchen stools.
‘What?’
‘Do as you’re told.’ Jon’s face darkened, and his voice took on the dangerously soft tone Tess had quickly leant not to disobey, ‘I don’t want to raise my voice and attract attention do I.’
Tess shook slightly as she bent over the stools padded seat, aware that despite her fear of discovery, her treacherous body was getting turned on by the situation.
Jon flipped up her skirt, and began to smooth Tess’s tight arse with his palms. Grabbing a wooden spoon from the worktop, he tapped it against her backside, soft at first, then harder.
‘Jon, stop it,’ Tess, hissed at him, as she squirmed against the stool, her attempts to rise prevented by Jon’s other hand pressing firmly into the small of her back. ‘Jon, please!’
‘Come off it Tess, you know you like it really.’
‘But Jon, our guests, what will they think?’
‘They’ll think,’ Ed spoke from the doorway, a knowing smile across his weathered face, ‘that Jon is a very lucky man.’
Tess froze, her heart thudding against the stool. She knew in an instant that Jon had planned this, probably in collusion with his friends. Her face flushed and goose-pimples of uncertainty shot across her flesh.
Jon was speaking to Ed, but the sound of their voices seemed to be coming from very far away. Tess felt sick and excited at the same time. Confusion ran around her brain. Her chest was tight with erotic expectation, but this didn’t square with the humiliation that Jon, the man who claimed to care for her, was causing.
Ed came closer. Jon passed him the spoon, ‘Perhaps you’d get her warmed up for me whilst I see if Jack is ready to proceed.’
What the hell did ‘proceed’ mean? Tess gulped back a cry as Ed hit the rounded spoon against her rump, his large sweaty hand, replacing Jon’s cool skin. She didn’t have time to think, all her efforts went into not letting tears stream down her face, as Ed continued his work with enthusiasm.
‘Nicely tenderised?’ A new voice cut through Tess’s concentration.
‘Yes thanks, Jack.’ Ed paused in his work, and slid a hand across Tess’s reddened arse. She flinched at his touch.
‘Enough I think.’ Jon pulled Tess up right. She hung onto him as the blood drained from her head back to her body. She wanted to say, ‘How could you? What are you doing?’ But a look at Jon’s face, at all their faces, prevented her.
‘Serve up the dinner; just three plates.’ Obeying his order, Tess, her rear still smarting from the recent assault, slopped the dinner onto the plates, without even registering that she was only serving food for three, rather than four.
‘Good girl. Come here. Now, as quickly as you can, we would like you to take off your clothes…’
****
If you’d like to find out what happens to Tess next, you can buy Take Control from-
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HYI8BHA
http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00HYI8BHA
Happy reading everyone,
Kay xxx
May 24, 2015
Wonderfully, Amazingly, Fantastically, Lovely…
Sometimes I have to pinch myself. There are genuinely days when I can’t believe that I have this amazing life. Somehow I have gone from being an archaeologist, to medieval historian, to an erotica writer, and I’m still not entirely sure how it happened! One minute I was writing about crime rates in thirteenth century Leicestershire, the next I was describing how a dominant woman was getting her rocks off over a man tied to an armchair!
If you are a regular reader to this blog you will notice a certain over-use of words such as ‘wonderful’, ‘amazing’ , ‘fantastic’ and ’lovely’. This is not due to a lack in my vocabulary, but because life is good, and somehow those are the words that say it all.
Just over ten years into this erotica writing lark, and I can boast many a naughty publication, from my ultra naughty confessions style anthology The Collector (Austin & Macauley), through e-book collections such as, Quick Kink One and Yes Ma’am (Xcite e-books), a healthy handful of shared anthology publications, mostly with the wonderful (see- there I go!), Xcite books (inc. Sex at Work, Boy Fun and Ultimate Sins), and Cleis Press (inc. Gotta Have It, Best of the Best Women’s Erotica 2 and Sweet Love). And then of course, there are the novels…
So here I am, over a decade into my writing career, wondering what is going to come along next.
Many of you will know that Kay is not my only pen-name- I also write contemporary romance and children’s picture book as Jenny Kane. For the past 18 months, Jenny has taken over from Kay as my main persona, as her novels have been doing amazingly well- but it won’t be long before I’ll have time to think ‘Kay’ again…so the question is…what do I kink up next????
At the moment, I simply have NO idea. Don’t however, mistake this for thinking I am devoid of ideas-far from it. I just don’t know what to do first!!
One thing is for sure however – my new piece of work, like every piece of erotica I have written before- will be penned within one of my ever growing pile of notebooks with my faithful black biro. This will happen while I am sat in the far corner of my favourite coffee shop.
I’ve tried to drag myself into the twenty first century, and write directly into my laptop, but the best I can do is to type up the initial draft (a process which often involves much cursing as I fail to decipher my spider like handwriting). This is the time I do most of my editing, as I transfer my words of imaginative (hopefully) smut (definitely).
I can’t even edit on the computer! So once my words are all neatly typed up, I print off tale after tale, scribble all over them with my red pen, before laboriously typing back in the changes and repeating the process again and again, right up until the point when I totally hate what I’m reading- that’s when I know it’s finally complete!!
I’ve been rambling on for long enough, so I’ll leave you now- maybe to go and read a wonderfully, amazingly, fantastically lovely book!
Happy reading,
Kay xxxx
May 15, 2015
The Voyeur: Romance, Thriller, Psychological Mystery, or a BDSM romp?
Is it a romance, a thriller, a psychological mystery, a BDSM romp…or could it be all of the above?
The Voyeur…
Blurb
Wealthy business man and committed voyeur, Mark Parker, has a list of thirteen fantasies he is in the process of making a reality. Travelling between his London flat, his plush Oxfordshire mansion, and Discreet, his favourite S&M club; Mark is helped to realise his imaginatively dark erotic desires by two loyal members of his staff. His Personal Assistant, Anya Grant, and his Housekeeper Clara Hooper.
Upon his willing slave’s bare backs, Mark has written out his fantasy list in thick red pen. Only Fantasy 12 awaits the tick of completion against their flesh before Mark’s ultimate fantasy – Fantasy 13- can take place.
But have the girls performed well enough to succeed in the final challenge? And why is Mark getting mixed up with Anya’s previous employers at the Bridge’s Gentleman’s Club- a place Anya was all too delighted to escape from?
In order to find out, Mark’s girls are going to have to face some of the fantasies they thought they had left behind them all over again…
Extract
Anya had re-scanned all the emails that had flown across the invisible airwaves of the Atlantic between herself and Candice over the past few weeks. Having retreated to the bathroom to redo her lipstick and add a second layer of concealer to the bags under her eyes, Anya felt was as ready as she’d ever be to face the confident, ultra-efficient American PA over the video link.
Having checked the webcam was working properly, and that she was seated comfortably for the forthcoming exchange of information, Anya grabbed a final glance at the notes she’d made, and turned the conference call facility onto standby.
She was just tapping in the password she required to be patched through to the States when the office door opened and Mark and Clara walked in. Anya’s stomach twisted into a knot of lust as she regarded Clara in a skin-hugging Lycra catsuit, all scarlet and black; a combination which showed her figure off to perfection.
There was no point in protesting that she was about to take an important call; Mark already knew that. Why else would he have bought Clara in, dressed so provocatively, at that exact moment? Her boss was a game player extraordinaire, and he knew precisely how to press her buttons, and freak her out at the same time. Anya had known Fantasy 6 would have to be replayed – but she hadn’t expected it now; so soon after Fantasy 2.
So, Mark isn’t going to rerun his erotic fancies in order after all.
Mark said nothing as he gestured for Anya to rise while he pulled her chair from her desk. Clara, without prompting, crawled under the desk, and crouching uncomfortably, waited for Mark to speak.
Even as her boss pointedly announced the obvious imminent replay of Fantasy 6, Anya was ahead of him, vividly remembering what had happened last time she had been forced to carry out a telephone call with Clara’s head between her legs. This time it seemed she was going to have to endure all the gorgeous delights to come while communing with an audience who could not only hear her voice, but see her as well; and who must never know what was going on below the desk.
‘Roll up your skirt, take off your thong, and sit down. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you the importance of opening your legs as wide as possible.’ Anya kicked off her shoes and obliged. ‘Quickly, girl, it’s time for your meeting to begin.’
As she sat, pulling in her chair as close to the desk as it would go without squashing Clara, Anya tried to steady her nerves. The video line rang, and Anya plastered a convincingly serene smile across her face.
‘How are you, Candice, all well over there?’ Anya felt pleased at how normal her voice sounded despite the knowledge that the woman she loved was curled up only inches from her naked pussy.
‘I’m great, thank you.’ Candice, as no-nonsense as ever, dived straight into the business of the day. ‘I’m pleased to say that the personnel alterations we’ve had this end seem to be an improvement, rather than the procedural nightmare that we both feared.’
Anya listened hard as Candice listed the strengths of the new employees and what she hoped they would bring to Parker Software as a whole. But as the minutes ticked by, and Clara hadn’t so much as breathed on her, Anya found her focus beginning to falter.
‘And if his impact so far is anything to go by, then I judge that Stuart Hopkirk will turn out to be the better of the new candidates to fulfil the transatlantic element of the sales force. He’s more of a “people person”, if you see what I mean?’ Candice emphasised her point by using her fingers to show the inverted commas around the statement that Anya had only partially heard.
Why hadn’t Clara done anything yet? Last time this had happened, her lover had been straight in with the action. That had been hard enough, trying to keep her tone business-like when Clara had been employing her mouth so expertly. This non-action was far worse. Anya was so braced for the feel of the first touch that she knew she was losing the thrust of what Candice was saying.
‘Anya, are you OK?’ Candice’s southern twang sounded genuinely concerned as her counterpart failed to answer a question.
‘Sorry, the screen broke up then for a bit,’ Anya rallied, not daring to glance in Mark’s direction, knowing he’d be annoyed at her lack of professionalism. ‘Could you repeat that one, please?’
‘Sure. I was saying that Hopkins will be over in the UK next month, so I’ll confirm dates with you once flights are booked. Mark should talk with him face to face. His ideas on company development are interesting.’
‘Of course. I’ll sort a meet and greet session in London as soon as you confirm timings.’
‘Excellent! Right, that just leaves us to sort Mark’s visit to the States in the summer. Are you coming with him this year? It would be great to meet you in person.’
‘I doubt it. I – owwww!’ Anya jumped as a sharp pair of teeth dug into her pussy. ‘Oh, do excuse me; I think I was just stung. Must be an insect in here or something.’
Candice’s eyes narrowed. She looked far from convinced, but was too professional and polite to do anything other than take Anya’s word for it.
Anya could feel a blush start to creep up her neck and tinge her cheeks pink as Clara continued to nibble her teeth over and around her mound, pulling back her labia with a sharp pressure which she knew could bring Anya off very quickly.
It was time to end this conference call, and quickly. ‘Well, my diary has the last four days of July pencilled in as a possible. How does that fit with you?’
Candice tapped a few buttons on the out of sight iPad Anya knew she was physically attached to, and looked up with an orthodontically enhanced, white toothed smile. ‘The 29th is out, but the four days prior to that are clear. Shall I book Mark in?’
Without even bothering to check those days were free in Mark’s calendar, Anya said, ‘That would be excellent.’ As Clara’s tongue and right hand joined in the exploration of her crotch, Anya pretended to write down the dates.
‘Anything else you require today, Candice?’ Anya squeezed her fingernails into her hidden palms, trying to deflect the need to wriggle her arse closer to Clara’s lips, which had begun to move even faster.
‘I think that just about concludes things. Thanks for your time, Anya.’
Issuing a smile of genuine relief as Candice bought things to a close, Anya felt Clara’s long fingernails began to delicately scrape the space below her clit. Her smile toward Candice froze for a split second as Clara then forcibly pushed a hand under Anya, shoving her butt upwards so her anus could be tickled.
‘One moment please, ladies.’ Mark strode across the room, and bent into the eyeline of the video link.
‘Good morning, Mark. I’m sorry; I hadn’t realised you were there.’ Candice’s face lit up, leaving no one in any doubt as to how attractive she thought the owner of Parker Software was.
‘I’ve just arrived, sweetheart.’ Mark oozed charm at Anya’s American associate. ‘Could you be an absolute star and give me a brief breakdown of sales figures for the last quarter your end?’
Anya could have cried as Clara’s digits increased their pace. As she struggled to keep her body still from the waist up, her arse squirmed and her shoulders tensed. She felt like some kind of sinister ventriloquist’s dummy as her upper body stiffened, a look which, at an executive level, could so easily be interpreted as lack of confidence, and therefore weakness. If she wasn’t careful Candice would be putting the word about that she was cracking up. Given half the chance, Anya knew she would be on the next plane to the UK, kicking her out, so she could work with Mark instead.
Gathering herself together, doing her best to blank out what was happening to her below desk level, Anya snapped back into PA mode. ‘Actually, that would be very helpful for me as well; but if you wish for some time to gather that information, then I am happy to schedule another call tomorrow?’
‘Well, I can help a little now.’ Candice addressed Mark rather than the PA. Normally Anya would have been offended, but today she was simply relieved to have the impetus taken away from her for a minute, so she could take the opportunity to lift her buttocks from the chair, allowing Clara easier access to her backside. Instantly, Clara shuffled a digit inside her anus, and Anya trapped her girl’s finger and right arm beneath her, successfully limiting the source of the sensually distracting motion around her groin.
Undetected, however, Clara’s left hand continued its adventure by running up Anya’s legs, dancing only the tips of her fingers over the exposed flesh, making Anya shiver, causing the inserted finger to burrow deeper into her backside.
As Candice and Mark discussed import and export figures, Anya found it harder to remain centred on them, her mind drifting more and more to the curled-up creature beneath the desk.
‘Can you confirm that for me please, Anya?’ Mark’s voice snapped Anya back to attention. She was suddenly convinced by the way he and Candice were staring at her that this was at least the second time he’d asked her that question.
She knew there was no point in bluffing; they were both too shrewd for that. ‘I’m sorry, I allowed myself to be distracted. Can you repeat that, please?’
‘Sorry, Anya, I don’t have the time.’ Mark was brusque, and he turned his face back to the video link, treating Candice to his most disarming smile, ‘I must apologise for my PA’s behaviour, Candice. This unsatisfactory situation will be cleared up. Do you have time for another link meeting tomorrow?’
‘Certainly Mark, about 3 p.m.?’
Anya bristled silently, noticing that Candice hadn’t even referred to her diary, and privately hoped she’d find she was already busy and would have to reschedule, and therefore embarrass herself.
‘I’ll speak to you then. Many thanks, Candice; until tomorrow.’ Mark clicked off the link, and the room went deadly quiet…
****
Available in paperback or as an e-book, The Voyeur can be purchased from-
Happy reading,
Kay xxx
May 14, 2015
Release Blitz and Tasty Taster! The Honey Peach Affair by Dale Bradford
Today I’m delighted to be able to bring you an extract from Dale Bradford’s first novel, The Honey Peach Affair. Unusually for this site, this is not a work of erotica, but a mystery based around the erotica and porn industries. Who better than Dale, after many a year at the ETO Magazine, to delve into the industries darker side?
Intriguing…
Blurb:
A social drink with Britain’s hottest adult entertainment star is the starting point for the biggest adventure of film reviewer Bruce Baker’s life.
When her sister asks for his help in investigating the star’s disappearance, law-abiding Bruce chalks up a charge sheet worthy of a career criminal, during his encounters with the unscrupulous and the fearsome – while dealing with a disagreeable boss who is looking for an excuse to sack him.
Sharing his journey is a virtuous anti-porn campaigner, whose cause Bruce inadvertently elevates to national prominence, and it culminates in Bruce sitting on one of the biggest stories any journalist could ever hope to uncover.
But he doesn’t want to write it.
The Honey Peach Affair is a murder mystery with elements of romantic comedy. It takes place in 2003 and is set in the adult entertainment industry.
Extract-
…Although the M5 traffic was quite heavy Bruce pulled into the hotel’s car park ten minutes before he had arranged to meet Rachel. He strode purposefully through the hotel’s glass and chrome revolving door and approached the counter in the lobby which had a Love Shack sign above it. A slim woman in her early twenties, with a mass of dark curls, was sat behind it.
“Hello Gina,” Bruce said, reading her name badge. “I’m Bruce, from AMG magazine.”
Gina explained that the Love Shack bash was taking place in one of the function rooms and that complimentary refreshments were being served on the hotel’s lawns. She wrote Bruce’s name and the title of his publication on a blank badge and offered to take him through.
“Is it okay if I wait for a colleague first?” he said.
“Sure. You didn’t come together?”
“No, she… it’s a long and winding road of a story.”
“It’s a her? That’s awesome. I’ll get her badge ready. What’s her name?”
Bruce smiled. That’s a good question. Her name is Rachel. But Rachel what?
Gina looked up at him expectantly, felt tip pen poised. “Her name?”
“It’s probably best if she tells you,” Bruce said.
“Huh?”
“I don’t really know her that well…”
“You don’t know her well enough to tell me her name?” Gina looked sceptical.
Bruce closed his eyes. He hadn’t thought this through. He paused for a few seconds and then inspiration struck: “She’s a freelancer. A freelance photographer. That we’ve booked through an agency.”
“Oh right,” Gina said. “Now it makes sense! Well, I hope she’s broad minded, we’ve got some pretty scary looking new lines on show here today.”
Out of the corner of his eye Bruce spotted Rachel emerging from a taxi that had pulled up outside the hotel. She swished through the revolving door and ran up to him.
“Bruce, darling,” she said, hugging him. “How wonderful to see you again!”
Gina stared at her. “You guys do know each other!”
“Of course we do,” Rachel said, returning the stare.
Gina said: “You haven’t brought a camera?”
“Why would I bring a camera?”
“It’s okay,” Bruce said, pulling his small digital out of his jacket pocket. “She can use mine.”
“Look, if you guys have got something going on, that’s cool,” Gina said. “You don’t have to…”
“Thank you Gina,” said Bruce, ushering Rachel towards the function room.
“Wait, photographer lady!” Gina called after them. “You need a badge to get in.”
Bruce groaned. They returned to the desk and Rachel spelled out her name for Gina, who wrote it in the space provided and handed it over with a thin smile.
“Rachel Rogers?” Bruce said, staring at Rachel’s badge as they walked towards the function room.
“Do you have a problem with alliterative names, Bruce bloody Baker? At least they are easy to remember.”
He laughed. “No, but I thought you’d be a Peach.”
“That sounds a bit like a chat-up line. Are you trying to seduce me, Mr Baker?”
“I meant your surname,” Bruce spluttered. “I thought it would be Peach.”
“Same mother, different fathers,” Rachel tutted. “Don’t you listen to anything I say?”
A sign on the door of the function room read ‘Restricted access – invited guests aged 18+ only’ and a hefty man with a shaved head and goatee beard stood guard. He glanced briefly at Bruce and Rachel’s badges and, moving only his left arm, held the door open for them.
As they went through, they were greeted by another hefty man with shaved head and goatee beard. The function room was bigger than Bruce expected and decorated in the style of a Venetian ballroom, with flocked red and gold wallpaper and elaborate chandeliers dotted around the ceiling. Three booths had been constructed down one wall and opposite them was a series of desks with Love Shack representatives sat behind them. To the rear were two sets of doors, leading out to the lawns.
A few dozen people were milling around inside and talking in hushed tones. They turned to look at Bruce and Rachel as they entered but, failing to recognise either of them, quickly returned to their conversations.
“Why would they stage a shindig here, in the arse end of the country?” Rachel asked Bruce.
“This is hardly the arse end…”
“They’re never going to get the London media to travel to a regional event. If something is important it takes place in London.”
“You’re remarkably well informed for a sales rep…”
“Oh come on Bruce, it’s common sense,” she said dismissively, heading for the booths.
Each featured a table at the front stacked with posters and DVDs and a sign indicating the name of the performer – Wanda Wette, Cherry Chicolo and Honey Peach. All three were unoccupied. Behind the tables were stacks of plain cardboard boxes, containing the new products.
“Where are they?” Rachel asked.
A young girl in a black Love Shack T-shirt wandered over and said brightly: “They will be back in about twenty minutes.”
“What are they doing, having their implants serviced?” Rachel said.
The young girl’s enthusiasm was undimmed by the catty remark. “They’re outside having some photos with the press. Can I help you with anything?”
“We’ll wait,” Rachel sighed. She approached the Honey Peach booth and picked up a Legend of the Amazon Women DVD. Reading the back cover blurb, she wrinkled her nose.
“You go and do your work,” she said to Bruce, shooing him away with a hand gesture. “I’ll stay here and brush up on my porn abbreviations.”
Bruce dutifully whipped out his camera and took a series of pictures.
Gina approached him with an A4 envelope. “Hey Bruce, here’s a press kit for our new products, which we’re calling the Signature Series. The Head Master, Spasm Chasm and Hand Job are lifelike casts of each girl’s head, vagina and hand…”
“Has there been much interest?” Bruce asked, accepting the pack.
“It’s still kind of early,” Gina said. “We’re expecting more people this afternoon.”
“Maybe it would have been better to hold it in London?”
She raised her perfectly sculpted eyebrows at him.
He added: “You know, as far as the London media is concerned, if an event is important it takes place in London.”
Before she could reply they were both distracted by the piercing sound of a glass being smashed and raised voices. A short stocky man in a black suit was dragging a taller man in through the doors by his hair. The shorter man had pulled the taller man’s head close to him and he was swearing quietly in his ear.
“Oh Lord…” Gina said, covering her eyes with her hand and lowering her head.
The two men continued through the function room where the short one flung the tall one towards the bouncer, and made a gesture which appeared to suggest he wanted him removed from the building.
“Will you excuse me?” Gina said to Bruce. “You’re going to be here for some time, right?”
Bruce nodded.
“Cool, because before you go, Mr Sachetti wants to meet you,” she said.
“As long as that isn’t him,” Bruce said, gesturing at the short man.
The look she gave him told him that it was. “I’m afraid he can be a bit old school.”
Bruce jumped as he felt someone put their hand on his shoulder and he was relieved to see it was Rachel.
“Well there’s nothing like a PR disaster to liven up a dull Tuesday afternoon,” she said.
“What happened?”
“The turnout is so disappointing there are heaps of unopened bottles of wine on the tables outside,” she said. “That reporter from a local freesheet decided to stuff his bag with a couple.”
“Really? That’s a bit off…”
“That’s what journalists are like,” she said. “No offence but they’re freeloaders, especially lower down the orders. Taking exception to it is like walking into a public toilet and complaining it smells of pee. Speaking of which, do you know what’s in those boxes on the stands? Rubber casts of each girl’s fanny – how gruesome is that?”
“That’s shocking,” Bruce agreed, trying to suppress a smile.
“How sad must some men be to buy rubber body parts to shag?”
Bruce shrugged. No good could come from him answering this question. “Shall we go outside and see if the photographers have finished?”
They hadn’t, so they sat at one of the round pub-style tables. Rachel examined the label of the white wine chilling in the chrome ice bucket centrepiece. Several long oblong tables on the terrace were covered with white linen tablecloths and offered a variety of salads, sandwiches and cold meats, though they were slowly spoiling in the summer sun.
The wide expanse of lawn ran for several hundred yards down to a man-made lake where a small crowd congregated. One of the girls had been persuaded to wade in and splash in the shallow end for the photographers.
Rachel grabbed two glasses and unscrewed the cap of one of the wine bottles. “I know it’s very low-rent but I actually quite like fruity Germans,” she said, filling the glasses.
Bruce raised his glass to his lips and, shading the sun from his eyes with his hand, looked across at his companion. Her attractive face was accentuated by the backdrop of lush green lawns and bright blue summer sky.
“So what’s a nice boy like you doing in porn, Bruce?” she said. “Before I met you I thought you’d be some lecherous old creep.”
“I don’t work in porn, I work in publishing…”
She guffawed. “Okay you keep telling yourself that, darling!”
“It’s true. I’m doing the same job I was doing when I was writing about video games.”
“You were in the video games industry?” she said.
“No, I was in publishing then too,” Bruce replied, spotting the trap she had set for him.
She laughed. “So what happened?”
“One of my bosses left to start Adult Movie Guide. Hardcore pornography had just been legalised to sell in licensed sex shops and he thought porn could be the new video games, so he invited me to join him.”
Rachel removed a DVD from her bag. Staring intently at the case, she asked: “Do they honestly expect people to believe that these are real nuns? Since when did nuns have tattoos and pierced nipples?”
“Are you telling me they don’t?”
“Thank the Lord, it looks like they’ve finished the photos,” Rachel said, standing up. “Is it me or does this have the air of a really bizarre wedding?”
Bruce stood up too. The group was walking noisily up the lawns from the lake. As they approached, Bruce could see that the entourage consisted of two T-shirted Love Shack girls, a few shabbily dressed photographers and two porn stars. And neither of them was Honey Peach.
“She’s not there, is she?” Rachel said.
“It doesn’t look like,” Bruce replied.
Rachel’s face flushed with anger. She sat back down and downed the contents of her wine glass. “You told me she would be here, Bruce,” she said, emphasising each word. “I’ve taken time off work to be here today.”
“I’ll sort it out,” he said, walking towards the group.
Rachel huffed.
“Hi, I’m Bruce from AMG magazine,” Bruce said to one of the Love Shack girls. “Is Honey Peach about?”
“Have you met Cherry Chicolo and Wanda Wette?” the girl said, gesturing to the two performers, who were now snogging for the benefit of the photographers.
“I specifically came to see Honey Peach,” Bruce said.
“Unfortunately she’s let us down,” the girl said. “We’re as disappointed as you are.”
Bruce doubted that.
“But we’ve got Wanda and Cherry!” the girl said with a flourish, gesturing again in their direction.
The group reached the terrace. Some of the photographers followed Cherry Chicolo and the Love Shack girls inside while the others sat down at a table and made a start on the wine.
Wanda Wette approached Bruce. “Did you just say you were Bruce Baker?”
Bruce nodded. “Hi, how you doing?”
Wanda calmly picked up the open bottle of wine from the table, looked at the label for a few seconds and then poured it over Bruce’s head. “That’s for what you said about me last month.”
The photographers cheered. One asked her to do it again so he could photograph it.
“What did I say?” Bruce spluttered.
“That you’ve seen more attractive sacks of potatoes than me,” Wanda said.
Bruce considered how to respond as the cold sticky wine ran down his chest, causing his white linen shirt to become transparent and stick to his skin. The commotion had brought people from inside the function room out onto the terrace. One of the Love Shack girls saw what had happened and quickly stepped in to steer Wanda away from Bruce.
“Bravo Bruce, you certainly sorted that out,” said Rachel, applauding in a slow, mocking manner.
Bruce picked up a paper napkin and wiped the wine off his face. “Just one of my fans,” he explained…
***
About the author:
Dale Bradford has been writing for consumer magazines, national newspapers and specialist interest publications since the 1980s. He is currently the editor of Erotic Trade Only (ETO), a B2B magazine for the UK adult retail sector. The Honey Peach Affair is his first novel.
Links:
***
Good luck with your first story Dale
Happy reading,
Kay xx
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