Kay Jaybee's Blog, page 72
August 22, 2014
Guest Post: Lily Harlem has a new Silk Tie!
Today I’m welcoming the fantastic Lily Harlem, to tell us all about her super hot new book, The Silk Tie.
Over to you Lily…
“If you enjoyed The Glass Knot you’ll LOVE The Silk Tie.”
New from Lily Harlem, The Silk Tie, a steamy ménage a trois novel (mmf) that celebrates desire, fantasy and follows the brave decision of a woman to let a third into a her relationship. It’s steamy, sexy and leaves no detail unexplored. Grab a copy, settle down and enjoy a rollercoaster of emotions with Hayley, Gabe and Brent.
The Silk Tie is available from Amazon
The Glass Knot is available from Amazon and all other good ebook retailers
Back cover information
Professional life in the City of London is tough going which is why my husband Gabe and I live by the motto work hard and play hard. So when something, or rather someone, comes along that changes how he wants to play I’m intrigued by our sexy new game.
But there’s always private sides to the ones you love, and in this case new thoughts and desires are stealing Gabe’s dreams. It’s not until I meet Brent—gorgeous and sophisticated yet soul-achingly alone—that I begin to understand the complex layers of Gabe’s needs and exactly what I have to do.
But I’m not afraid; in fact the idea of two men turns me the hell on. In a whirlwind of romance, fear, desire and a new cresting wave of passion we open up to each other, testing the water for one weekend only. Or is it? Will we ever be the same again? Can Gabe and I survive our decision to let a third into our bed? Can Brent just walk away and, more importantly, will we let him?
Excerpt
The bathroom door opened, and Gabe wandered out wearing his favorite pair of worn jeans. His chest was bare and his hair was damp and pushed back over his head. He’d shaved that morning but I could smell a fresh application of his most expensive cologne.
“How are you doing?” I asked, standing.
Damn, he looked so absolutely fuckable.
He walked up to me and cupped my face. “I’m fine, are you?”
“Yes.” My stomach was tense and my skin hot and tingly, a bit like going up the ramp on a rollercoaster. But I was okay.
“No matter what happens, remember I love you,” Gabe said. “You’re my wife, my soul mate. Nothing can change that.”
“I know, and you remember that this is your moment of fun with Brent. Go with it. Forget I’m here. Realize the fantasy.”
“I doubt I’ll forget that you’re here…” He paused and smiled. “Well, maybe a little.”
I ran my hand down his chest then smoothed it over the lower curve of his defined pectoral muscles. “I put out the lube and condoms.”
He glanced at the locker. “Thanks.”
There was a knock at the door.
We both looked at each other then at the entrance to the room.
The door opened and Brent walked in.
He wore tight black boxers and nothing else. Like Gabe’s, his hair was damp.
He shut the door up and stood still, staring at us.
Gabe dropped his hands from my face and I took a step away.
“It’s dark in here,” Brent said.
“Too dark?” Gabe asked. “I can open the curtains.”
“No, it’s perfect,” Brent said, walking around the end of the bed and up to Gabe. “I can see you but it’s not dazzling. My eyes are adjusting now.” He smiled and gestured to the chair, looked my way. “You’ve found your viewing position, I see.”
“Yes.” I nodded.
He stepped past Gabe, reached for my hand and drew my knuckles to his lips. “I hope you enjoy the show.”
I swallowed. “I’m sure I will.”
He released me and turned to Gabe.
I admired Brent’s torso as he moved. Long and sleek, his muscles rippled gently beneath the surface. He didn’t appear to have any fat on him, he was just neat, harnessed strength. And his boxers covered an impressive bulge, the outline of which was easily made out. I’d guess he was already half-mast just with the anticipation of fucking Gabe.
“You smell good,” he said to Gabe as he ran the tip of his index finger over Gabe’s shoulder and down his bicep. “Delicious, in fact.”
Gabe tensed. “Thank you.”
“Relax,” Brent said. “You want this.”
“I do,” Gabe said, “I want you.”
Brent smiled then leaned forward and kissed my husband.
I stood and watched, mesmerized, the way I had been when I’d spied on them. Their large jaws moved in time. Both men had their eyes shut and the dance of their mouths showed their sleek tongues touching and exploring.
Gabe moaned a little, how he did when he became lost in a kiss, and he set his hands on the sides of Brent’s waist. The touch seemed a little hesitant, a bit awkward, though I could tell he was completely invested in the kiss.
Brent pulled back a fraction. He rested his palm on Gabe’s cheek then turned to me. “Come here, Hayley.”
I did as he’d asked. “What?” I asked quietly. My heart was thudding—just seeing them kiss did seriously stimulating things to my libido.
“Kiss him,” Brent said. “Kiss your husband.”
That was an instruction I didn’t need to be given twice.
Brent kept his hand on Gabe’s face as I meshed my lips with Gabe’s, prodding his tongue with mine and absorbing the lingering flavor of Brent in his mouth.
When I broke the kiss, Brent placed his hand on my face, too, so he was holding us both.
“You two are hot together,” he said smiling. “And so perfect for one another. I feel honored that you’ve let me in to fulfill a fantasy.”
“We feel the same about you being here,” Gabe said. He touched Brent’s mouth with his fingertips and traced the shape of his lips.
Brent smiled and gazed at Gabe. He then dropped his hand from my face and, as I’d done earlier, he caressed Gabe’s chest.
I felt Gabe’s shoulder shift against mine as he sucked in a breath. Being touched sensually, by a man, was what he’d wanted.
“I didn’t think you’d bother with jeans,” Brent said, slipping his hand down to Gabe’s waistband.
“I’m commando,” Gabe said with an almost shy smile.
Brent waggled his eyebrows. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“Let’s have a look then, shall we?” Brent sank to his knees so his face was level with Gabe’s groin.
He undid the top button on Gabe’s jeans, then the next and the next. His big fingers worked slowly but steadily and his face held a serious expression of concentration.
Gabe was utterly still at my side.
Brent released the last button then tugged and shifted the jeans down to Gabe’s knees.
Gabe’s cock sprung forward, stiff and thick. The veins were raised and it jutted jauntily toward Brent’s face.
“Commando works for me,” Brent said. He swept his tongue over his bottom lip and stared at Gabe’s erection.
“I need…” Gabe kicked a little and rid himself of his trousers completely. “To lose these.”
Brent smiled and shoved the jeans aside. He didn’t take his gaze from Gabe’s cock. “Good, naked is how I like you best, so it seems.”
I liked Gabe naked too, but I wasn’t about to speak and break the sizzling connection between the two men. It was almost palpable. The air was alive with need.
Brent slid his palms up from Gabe’s knees to his thighs then tickled his fingers through Gabe’s wiry pubic hair.
Again Gabe tensed. He swayed too.
“You have an incredible dick,” Brent said. “I want to taste it.”
“Okay…” Gabe said, his voice breathy and light. “I mean yes…please do.”
Brent smiled, but only briefly because then he opened his mouth, leaned forward and took the head of Gabe’s cock between his lips. He gripped Gabe’s shaft with his right hand and with his left, scooped up his balls.
“Ah, fuck,” Gabe said. He toppled backward a few inches before adjusting his balance.
I snapped out my arm and curled it around his waist, felt his weight sag against me as I supported him.
“That’s…oh, God, your mouth on me…Brent.”
Gabe didn’t need to say the words. Brent’s mouth, stretched around the flare of Gabe’s cock, was a beautiful and highly erotic sight.
Brent slid Gabe’s shaft deeper. His eyes were shut and his jaw pulled wide. He fed Gabe in, slipping his fingers over his erection.
Gabe reached out and weaved his fingers into Brent’s hair. “Fucking hell,” he gasped.
Brent kept going. I knew how much of Gabe I could take in my mouth, and it wasn’t to the root but Brent was nearly there now. His cheeks bulged and his nostrils flared. I could hear him breathing hard through his nose.
Gabe panted and stared downward.
I held him tight, my nipples peaking against my floaty sundress and my pussy dampening the gusset of my knickers.
“Ahh, yeah…”Gabe said, rocking his hips forward.
Brent’s face became buried in Gabe’s pubic hair. His shoulders were raised, tense, and his hand that had gripped Gabe’s cock now squeezed Gabe’s hip, his knuckles were paling.
I knew he’d be fighting his gag reflex. He had Gabe so deep, so far down.
He began to withdraw.
Gabe’s cock came into view, inch-by-inch, saliva-coated and shiny.
Gabe dragged in a deep breath then blew it out slowly.
Brent took hold of Gabe’s shaft again and held it tight. He pumped from the base to the tip several times, pulling on the skin and working his tongue over and into the slit.
Gabe moaned and flexed his hips.
“Ready for more?” Brent asked, looking up at Gabe.
“Yes,” Gabe said. “Absolutely.”
Again, Brent opened his mouth wide. He took Gabe on a fast ride to full-depth.
Gabe gasped and curled his fingers into fists in Brent’s hair.
My hands tingled with a desire to also touch Brent. Feel his hair, the texture of his skin. But I didn’t, I kept them to myself. One arm around Gabe’s waist, the other bunching up a handful of my sundress. I couldn’t interfere, that wasn’t my role here.
Brent was pulling back and sinking deep on Gabe’s cock over and over, his whole body rocking backward and forward.
Gabe was breathing fast, his abdomen was tense and I could feel tremors rippling over his muscles.
“Stop,” Gabe said suddenly. “Please, no more. You’re going to make me come.”
Brent let Gabe’s shaft slip from his mouth. “That’s the idea.”
“Not…like this…I want…I need…”
****
Lily Harlem Bio
Lily Harlem lives in the UK and is an award-winning author of contemporary erotic romance. She writes for publishers on both sides of the Atlantic including Ellora’s Cave, HarperCollins, Totally Bound, Xcite 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 Glass Knot and Scored have been blessed with many 5* reviews since their release in 2012.
Her latest novel, Breathe You In, is a super-sexy romance with a twist that will not only heat you up but stay with you for years to come. Breathe You In was named a USA Today Reviewer’s Recommended Read of 2013.
Lily also co-authors with Natalie Dae and publishes under the name Harlem Dae – check out the Sexy as Hell Box Set Trilogy 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
Author Pages
Amazon US Amazon UK ARe Kobo B&N Sony ibooks
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Many thanks Lily!
Happy reading,
Kay xx
August 20, 2014
Grab My Equipment!!
Over the years I’ve written over 90 short erotic stories for a vast array of different mixed author anthologies. Three of my kinkiest tales can be found in my mini- e-anthology, Equipment…
Blurb-
To his lust driven delight, Lee Cooper’s opinion that his girlfriend simply doesn’t have the Equipment to take control in the bedroom is quickly and deliciously.
Meanwhile, Kim is sick of her gorgeous neighbour Jack bringing home a non-stop string of unsuitable women to screw, while completely failing to notice the girl right under his nose. Taking extreme measures she sets out to prove she is more than just The Girl Next Door.
Mark’s girlfriend is Searching For Her- the perfect woman to make her lover’s dreams come true. A quest which leads her into the path of more than one willing young lady…
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Here’s an little snippet from Equipment to whet the appetite…
The moment I saw his naked arse, I knew that I wanted to fuck it, and I told him so. It was the first time I’d seen Lee Cooper unsure of himself. For a split second a veil of uncertainty, possibly even fear, had crossed his generally ultra-confident square features. It didn’t last though, and he was soon shrugging my statement off with a lad-ish laugh, ‘you ain’t got the equipment baby,’ as he eased his solid cock into my willing body.
I started working part-time at the garage, where Lee is employed as a mechanic, three months ago. The first thing he said to me, as his clear brown eyes appraised my slight frame and red plaited hair was, ‘I’m looking forward to pulling on those pigtails honey.’ From anybody else I wouldn’t have taken a comment like that, but somehow from Lee it was okay. He exuded a sort of sexual confidence, and the instant and silent knowledge that eventually we would fuck radiated from his every pore. It would have been foolish of me to deny that unspoken understanding, and I privately looked forward to the day I’d discover if the tattoos that adorned his muscular arms, extended to his chest and down his legs.
That was three flirtatious months ago, and it had been fun letting the erotic tension build between us, getting more intense as the weeks of inaction ticked by, but finally, Lee’s resolve had broken. He told me, as he hammered an impatient fist on my front door during his lunch hour, that he’d been changing the oil in a beat-up old motorcar, when he’d realised he couldn’t hold on another moment.
After the glorious frisson of the wait, there was always the risk that the reality wouldn’t live up to the expectation. I hadn’t been disappointed however, far from it.
I smiled to myself as Lee dragged his grubby boiler suit back on, and disappeared down my garden path at a run. His words echoed in my head, “You ain’t got the equipment baby.” A wicked twinkle began to shine in my eyes at the prospect of what lay ahead for the unsuspecting mechanic, and speaking across the empty room, I said, ‘Well actually Mr Lee Cooper, I have all the equipment we could possibly need…’
The thought of his tight arse, of claiming it as my own, of taking control of Lee for a while, and perhaps robbing him of a portion of his macho-attitude, grew within me, and I began to lay plans for the temporary domination of this alpha-male.
On Lee’s next visit, predictably the following lunchtime, I embarked on a mission to both enjoy myself, and to lull him into a false sense of security, neither mentioning how delicious I found his backside, nor my eventual intentions for it. As his calloused hands made their way over my naked chest, pinching my nipples with exquisitely painful squeezes, I groaned with genuine pleasure. Stroking the beautifully toned body that pushed against mine, I relished the sight of the tanned multi-tattooed chest I’d so recently discovered.
It was on Lee’s fourth visit that I kept my hands exclusively on his backside. Patting it gently, smoothing it, and caressing it, in a totally non-threatening way, as my new lover pumped himself swiftly in and out of me.
On the fifth visit Lee announced he’d had a dream about tying me up. His face, when I told him that he could do just that, was a picture. I’m not sure if he was more turned on by the fact he could do anything he liked to me, while my hands were secured behind my naked back, or by the feeling of power my helplessness gave him. I suspect the latter. As Lee’s warm tongue explored my stomach, and ducked skilfully between my spread legs, I wallowed submissively in the blissful feelings that engulfed me.
During visit number six, a rare after work encounter, while Lee was both fucking and smacking my arse with stingingly wonderful efficiency, the last few parts of my plan fell into place, and I knew that my need to take his firm neat backside was reaching the point of obsession.
A little over two weeks after Lee had first turned up on my doorstep, I decided the time had come to act. Laying out my sex toys in a neat row near my pillow, I hid them from view with my duvet. Removing the clutter of clothes from the battered old armchair I keep in the corner of my bedroom, I adjusted its position so that it was at the foot of the bed. Then I took off my regular jeans and t-shirt, and put on my tight black Lycra bodice and matching knickers. The caress of the clinging material against my flesh was enough to increase my pulse-rate, and boot-up the arousal I had been so carefully keeping in check.
Lee’s distinctive knock on the door came at almost exactly seven o’clock as we’d arranged. I smiled quietly to myself at his promptness and, wrapping myself in a black silk robe, descended the stairs to collect my unwitting victim.
‘Wow babe,’ his appreciative eyes ran over my robed frame, ‘like the silk.’ He reached forward, and I allowed Lee to engulf me briefly in his arms, his stubble scratching my cheeks as his mouth came to mine. Then, I broke away from his magnetic warmth, holding him at arms length.
‘You like what you see?’ I grinned at Lee, my green eyes reflecting into his brown ones, ‘you want to see more?’…
****
If you’d like to find out what happens to Lee next, you can buy Equipment from all good e-retailers, including…
Happy reading,
Kay xx
August 18, 2014
Guest Post from Jilly Boyd: Shut Up and Talk – The dawn of the talkie films
Today I’m welcoming the lovely Jilly Boyd to my site to tell us all about her love of cinema, and how that passion formed the basis of the latest anthology she has edited- Flappers, Jazz and Valentino.
Over to you Jilly…
Shut Up and Talk – The dawn of the talkie films
Anyone who knows me well knows that I’m a huge film buff. I write about films on a near-daily basis, and strongly believe that my best birthday present ever was my black Cineworld Unlimited card.
I keep mentioning that one of the reasons I’m so intrigued by the 20s as an era is the rise of cinema. It was an important decade for the silver screen, which at that point was still such a new thing that an evening of going to the pictures was an event in itself. The first bonafide movie stars made themselves known, and Rudolph Valentino became the first major sex symbol (the man for whom the phrase Latin lover was coined, actually). When he died, a mass hysteria erupted among his female fans, which only added to his status as an icon.
But the biggest step forward in cinema came in the mid-to-late 20s, when studios first started taking steps to commercialize sound in films. Experiments with combining sound and film had been going on almost as long as the medium of film itself, but it was with the release of The Jazz Singer in 1927 that it really took off.
Although the use of synchronized sound in The Jazz Singer was limited (you can only hear when Al Jolson’s character is singing, plus two instances of him ad-libbing speech) it was enough to convince Hollywood that sound was the way to go. For some actors, it meant a step towards silver screen immortality. For others, it meant a slow fade into the background.
Actress Anny Ondra, raised in Prague, saw herself being overdubbed by Joan Barry when Hitchcock’s 1929 film Blackmail was remade with sound. Ondra’s career in British films was effectively over, as the studios did not think her thick accent would fly with audiences. Norma Talmadge, despite her diligent work with voice coaches, found the public losing interest in her as she was deemed an old favourite. She left the film business for good.
These are just two examples of actors who saw their career reduced to nothing because of the sound revolution. But, every down has its up, and film continued to thrive – with its new favourites.
There are a couple of films that deal with actors and the transition to sound films – Singin’ in the Rain accurately shows the kerfuffles productions had with getting the equipment to behave (Lina trying to speak into her microphone and failing several times in a row is still one of my favourite things ever). The Artist, meanwhile, shows the side which actors like Anny Ondra and Norma Talmadge became all too familiar with: the sound revolution causing them to lose their jobs. Both pretty good insights into those first years of sound.
Film continues to be a fascinating medium; as I said, I write about it pretty much daily and I never bore with gaining insight on its past, its present and its future. And because Rudolph Valentino was such a brief but important and lasting part of its past, the story from which I’m sharing an excerpt with you seemed like a perfect fit for this anthology (which has its name in the title – he was THAT important).
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Excerpt from The Argentine Tango by Tabitha Kitten
Devoid of natural light, the shop was dim and it took a little while for my eyes to become accustomed to the dark. Dorothy was alone, standing behind the table. She was a spinster in her mid-thirties; a slender, statuesque woman with olive skin and coal-black eyes. I knew her well, often we had chatted when I had been in my aunt’s back yard hanging out washing. And I had seen Dorothy out shopping, always fashionably clothed in her own creations, knee-length, low-waisted dresses that were expertly adorned with beads and tassels, or sashes and bows, or even ostrich and peacock feathers. She had matching cloche hats, wore her black hair in an Eton crop, smoked using a cigarette holder and was forever swinging the beads that were around her neck. So haute couture, at times very theatrical with her speech and manner, she should have been living in London not in a back street in a small, industrial town in the north of England.
“Hello Dorothy,” I said quietly as I closed the door behind me.
“Hello Irene.” Her voice was almost inaudible, a hushed whisper of a sound.
“It was very sad, the news, about Valentino,” I remarked.
Dorothy moved from behind the table to face me. “I grieve for Valentino.”
She was wearing a loose-fitting, box-shaped, flapper dress complete with the intricate embroidery that embellished all her clothes. It gave her an almost boyish, straight silhouette. But, the very noticeable feature was that, today, she had greased back her hair in a style popular with men. I had seen her hair like this before. Once, when she had been attending a party, she had dressed in male attire complete with slicked back hair and monocle to be music hall’s Burlington Bertie. She had a very commanding presence about her and I had felt quite strange inside when I had seen her dressed like that. She had attracted and intrigued me in a way that I wasn’t too sure about – a way that I had never experienced before.
“Valentino was the greatest film star that lived,” she declared dramatically. “When I saw him in The Sheik I thought I would faint at his beauty. And in Blood and Sand where he was a bullfighter, falling in love with Rita Hayworth, that charming seductress who cast her spell over him, oh, how I wanted to be Rita Hayworth … What it must have been like to have been loved by Valentino.”
“They called him the great Latin Lover,” I said simply, whilst staring at Dorothy’s masculine coiffure.
“On the silver screen and in real-life,” she replied as she stood alongside me. “He was such a lover that he’s even been on trial for bigamy. And, so many women fell in love with him when watching his films.” She rubbed my bare arm. “Have you read about his death in the newspapers, Irene? The women, they are distraught about the loss of the world’s greatest lover.”
I nodded. “I read that thousands of his fans lined the streets in New York City. There was an open viewing at the funeral home where people could go to pay their respects. He was laid in state, in a bronze casket on a raised pedestal, and many women fainted or threw themselves on to the coffin. In the streets there was pandemonium and police on horses had to be deployed to keep the calm.”
Dorothy ran her hand gently over my wrist and looked earnestly into my face. “Would you ever throw yourself on to the coffin of the man you loved, Irene?”
Before I could answer, Dorothy raised her hand and tucked one of my finger-waved flapper curls behind my ear. It was an innocent gesture but one which I found slightly unnerving because something wasn’t quite right; Dorothy seemed in a very strange mood. She continued quickly, “Can you imagine the drama, all of those women in hysterics as they mourned, some of his despondent fans attempting suicide, all because of the death of the greatest lover they had only known on the silver screen, the greatest lover they had never had. How many women made love to Valentino when he was on screen, Irene? How many women wanted to be the one in his arms?”
I knew what Dorothy meant. With his dandyish clothing, rakish looks, virile and masculine demeanour, I, too, had been enamoured by Valentino. I was acutely aware of why women swooned over him in darkened cinemas. And why they thought of him in darkened bedrooms.
Dorothy slid her hand down my back and rested it on the curve of my bottom. She stared deep into my eyes, and I felt a slight flush rise to my cheeks as I looked away.
“Do you know, Irene, I will never forget the first time I saw Valentino on screen, the opening scene of The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse when he danced the Argentine tango. I looked up at that dark, hot-blooded, handsome star with his smouldering, exotic, good looks and knew that he had stolen my heart. It was etched into my memory for an eternity when he danced the tango. I knew I would never be the same again.”
When I looked up at Dorothy I wondered if they were tears that I saw in her sombre, black eyes. But, she smiled, took my hand and kissed it tenderly. It was a beautiful gesture, her cool lips on my warm skin. Then she threw back her head and demanded, “And what are men in comparison … men, huh, they are so tame, so flat. Where is the passion, tell me Irene, men do not know how to make love to women. All women wish to be seduced by Valentino; that is every woman’s desire. He is so magical on screen, with a burning ardour when he looks deep into your eyes, his lips pressed firmly against yours.” Suddenly, Dorothy pulled me towards her, clutching me tightly. “Imagine me as Sheik Ahmed Ben Hassan and you as Lady Diana. This is how seduction should be. Imagine being kissed by Valentino, Irene. Picture in your mind the way he kisses his leading ladies.”
And, she kissed me. Right there, in her shop, Dorothy pressed her lips firmly against mine. When she released me, I gasped. It had lasted only a second but had made my heart race painfully. Seemingly unperturbed, Dorothy lit a cigarette, holding it in the same recognisable manner as Valentino did in his films.
“Have you ever danced the Argentine tango?” she asked me.
****
Blurb
Is it not enough to lead my son into wild ways without teaching my daughter the tango? – Dona Luisa, The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse
Step back in time to a decade full of glamour, glitz and decadent sin with this collection of erotica set in the Roaring Twenties. With twelve stories, in all shades from romantic and sensual to burning hot, this collection is the perfect appetizer for a night out at the speakeasy. A journalist gets a sexy introduction to the sinful syncopation of jazz music. A three-way tango performance becomes the steamiest ticket in town. The owners of a speakeasy set up a very special audition for their new trumpet boy. All this jazz and more in Flappers, Jazz and Valentino, edited by Jillian Boyd.
Buy links
Bio
Jillian Boyd is an erotica author and blogger, who has been putting dirty words on paper and on her blog for the past three years. She likes taking everyday, seemingly mundane situations and making them sexy and sensual – and when she’s not doing that, she lets her imagination fly off into history and distant planets. Where she also tries to find everyday situations and make them sexy and sensual.
She’s been published in several House of Erotica anthologies, contributed to Tiffany Reisz’s office supply erotica charity anthology Felt Tips and has a story in the Golden Crown Literary Award-winning Best Lesbian Romance 2014, published by Cleis Press. She is currently working on her first novella, a sci-fi erotic thriller called In Another Life.
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Many thanks Jilly!
Happy reading everyone,
Kay xx
August 15, 2014
Sexy Just Walked Into Town: Brit Babes FREE Extracts Alert!
It’s the last day of our peep between the pages of the Brit Babe’s anthology, Sexy Just Walked Into Town!
So far we’ve had a glimpse at the tasty offerings available within this fantastic FREE anthology, from Lily Harlem, Lucy Felthouse, Kd Grace (aka Grace Marshall) Victoria Blisse and myself. Today it’s erotic extracts all the way!!
So sit back, grab your beverage of choice, kick off the shoes, take the phone off the hook, lay back, and enjoy some delicious wordage from the rest of the Brit Babes…
First up- let’s enjoy a little Lexie Bay (aka Ruby Madsen)
Flesh for Fantasy
I can’t concentrate today because I am seeing her tonight. The thought makes my pussy wet. I crave her flesh, the smooth pale curves of her body. She is my obsession, my carefully guarded secret and she is filling my head with filthy thoughts about what I will do to her later.
My boyfriend thinks we are just friends. He doesn’t know how much I yearn to be in her arms, how I ache for the contrast of her soft body as he holds me against his hard muscle. She isn’t his type; he likes his women like me, boyish and skinny with no bum and tits that are only just a handful. Sophia is the opposite of me. My hands glide over her curves, fingers disappearing into the folds of her flesh, always a different place to explore as she moves beneath my touch.
My phone heralds the arrival of a text and I grab it. Please let it be from her. My need to be with her is bordering on insanity and I want to know that she is thinking about our evening together as much as I am.
Hey beautiful, I’m counting the minutes until you get here. I’ve got a treat for you later; I’m going to give you a makeover.
I smile because she wants me as much as I want her. I know this deep down but I hunger for the reassurance her words give me. No one has ever taken the time to woo me with words like she does, no one has taken the time to find out what I like and then turn my fantasies into reality…
***
I trust that has teased you into wanting to read more! Let’s dip a toe into the words of Tabitha Rayne…
Francesca’s Mother
I couldn’t help but stare.
She was perfection in her black bikini, standing in front of me in line for the waterslide. From her heels to her calves, all the way up the back of her thighs to the dip and crease of her buttocks, her legs were flawless. Olive, hair-free skin had me mesmerized. I was now glad of the long queue which previously had me shivering. With all the self assurance of a foreign exchange student, she gracefully lifted her ponytail and tied it in a knot. I swallowed hard as I caught a glimpse of thick dark hair curling under her arms. My heart leapt and I was instantly thrown back to my youth.
Francesca’s mother was my guilty pleasure. I would stay for long weekends at their house and spend the whole time preoccupied by the huge maternal presence that commanded the family home with gentle force. I would find any excuse to go into the kitchen and watch her knead dough on the antique pine table, her braless breasts swinging and gently slapping together beneath a purple smock dress. She was so mighty and strong and, though I couldn’t name it at the time, sensual. When she moved near me I’d inhale her scent. Underneath the rosemary and garlic, there was something else; something musky and dangerous. It at once attracted and repelled me, but I always filled my lungs with the delicious warmth, seeking that hidden perfume.
“Look at this,” Francesca pulled me into her mother’s bedroom one trip home from college. We sprawled on the bed reading Anais Nin and Nancy Friday books until we could gasp and giggle no more. I read the words, becoming more and more physically turned on. I’d had a few ferociously passionate encounters at college and was no stranger to sex, but I sensed these books were exploring something else too. Something more than the physical. They made me want to be with the mighty woman downstairs.
“I’m just going for a drink,” I told Francesca and rolled off the bed, taking care not to show the damp spot forming in my jeans.
When I got to the kitchen, Francesca’s mother was standing over a huge pot of broth on the stove. Thick meaty smells filled the room, and as she lifted her elbow to stir the great vat, a tuft of glossy black curls sprang into view. I was slightly repulsed but my mouth started watering and warmth and moisture spread between my legs. I sat on a stool and pressed my hands onto my mound, rocking my pelvis into my fists while Francesca’s mother stirred the soup. I came in my jeans just as she tapped the drips off the ladle on the side of the pot.
The atmosphere was charged and I was sure I caught her eyes flit across my tiny hard nipples while she swept away wild peppery hair from her brow with her forearm. I lifted my ribcage and stared at her, daring her to look again, but she didn’t. She turned back to the range and opened the oven door. Steam and the odour of fresh baked bread broke the spell and I hopped off the stool and sped back up to Francesca, at once invigorated and ashamed.
And now, at the swimming pool of all places, these feelings had returned. The queue bustled into me and I stumbled slightly into the back of the poised beauty in front. She looked haughtily round and I licked my lips involuntarily at the sight of hers. Full and raw with a dusting of fine hairs on her upper lip. Suddenly I was consumed with want for this woman. I could have grabbed her there and then. I could feel my nipples peaking as she looked at me straight in the eye…
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Okay- fanning yourself with a handy newspaper yet? Swapped the cup of tea for a cool drink with plenty of ice? Take a deep breath dear reader- because here comes Natalie Dae (aka Emmy Ellis, Geraldine O’Hara and Sarah Masters)…
Figment
I need a woman who wants me to fuck her until she thinks she’s going to fall apart. I need a woman who wants me as much as I want her. I need…her.
In the murk of his bedroom—just a small nightlight glowing on his bedside cabinet—Will stared at the grey, shimmering shape in front of him. He shivered, anticipating its manifestation into the woman who’d visited him nightly for God knew how long. Time was a blur. She had remained a shape at first, then, over the nights that followed, showed herself more and more. He knew why he hadn’t been able to see all of her—she wasn’t real, wasn’t firm enough in his mind for him to bring her into proper focus. In short, he didn’t know what he wanted, wasn’t sure who his perfect partner would be, and he needed to know in order for her to exist. He was nearly there, though. The previous evening she’d almost revealed her whole self, from her naked, hour-glass figure to her long, blue-tinted black hair, but her face was still a mystery.
Nude beneath the sheets, he let out a laboured breath, staring at the foot of his bed and willing her to change. To speak. If she did he’d be lucky. No woman had spoken to him in that way for months. And that was what he wanted—a woman to encourage him out of his shell with filthy words that inspired his cock to harden, had him reciprocating, getting her wet and wanting. Yet he didn’t have the courage to return those words—he knew he wouldn’t, that if a woman approached him and whispered the things he imagined she might, he’d stall, become more introverted. She was a figment of his imagination, nothing more, borne of loneliness and the need to share his life with someone.
How had it come to this…this woman of his dreams plaguing his nights?
He knew only too well. Leading a solitary life was a killer.
There, a sparkle of her outline, an aura that lit her up, then she filled herself in, much like the hour glass she was, the sand growing from the bottom up until she became full. At last, her face was clear, one of staggering beauty that had him realising he’d known her all along in his subconscious. A breeze through his open window fluttered her hair, streaming it out to one side, showcasing a dainty chin and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Startling green eyes seemed to light for a moment before dousing—I imagined that; no one’s eyes glow like that—and she curved her full, rose-pink lips into a slightly parted smile.
Christ, she’s so fucking beautiful…
That was the problem. He’d created a woman who didn’t exist. He’d made her ideal, while he was far from that. He needed to have his hair cut—it had grown long and unkempt since…well, since the other her had been in his life—and he’d allowed his stubble to grow into something more than a speckle of five o’clock shadow.
He wondered if he was going crazy, holed up as he was each evening after work and only going out every so often at weekends. Whether he’d created his perfect woman so he could feel less alone, less of a… failure. Since his last relationship had withered, he’d lacked the self-confidence to go out and find a new lover, someone to laugh with, be with. Someone to sit beside and not have to say a word to. A woman who just knew him. Instead, he’d concentrated on working out, his muscles so defined now, the skin covering them untouched by feminine hands.
“What do you want?” she asked, her voice reedy, as though she hadn’t quite been able to completely arrive.
I should be asking her that question…
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I feel I shouldn’t be interrupting you now- I’m sure you’d rather I just quickly reminded you where you can get the complete anthology, and left you to read and… umm… stuff, in peace…
I’ll just tip toe off, and leave you to it (oh- and I think you’ll find replacement batteries in the top drawer if you need them….)
Happy reading,
Kay xxx
August 14, 2014
Sexy Just Walked Into Town: Don’t Mess with ‘The Wife’
Today it’s my turn to share an extract from one of my stories within Sexy Just Walked Into Town- the FREE anthology from the Brit Babes!
The inspiration for my FF(ish) story, ‘The Wife’ came to me while I was waiting for a hospital appointment. I was sat in a small waiting area looking directly into a room, which had obviously once been some sort o office, but now held a mix and muddle of medical equipment, chairs, desks, and so on. I’m sure the door on the room was supposed to have been closed- but I’m so glad it wasn’t- for as soon as I saw that confusion of cast off equipment, my imagination went into overdrive.
To add to the story which had begun to brew in my mind as I waited for my appointment, a shy looking young woman in her late twenties approached the rather intimidating and austere looking receptionist. I have no idea what their conversation was about- but that didn’t matter. My imagination had already begun to fill in the blanks, and connect the two women to the store cupboard.
Before I had reached my turn in the consultants queue, I’d sketched out a plan for a story about a young woman who, convinced that the affair she’d been having was about to be outed, had decided to do ‘the right thing’ and confess her lovers wife before she found out from someone else.
I think it is safe to say that things don’t go quite as she imagined they would…
Extract-
“You did know he’d done this before?” Karen tilted her head to one side, appraising her visitor, “No, I can see he has told you nothing of the other gullible children who have come to find me like this.”
“What…I…” The words gullible and child stuck in Jade’s ears, echoing over and over again.
Jade stepped sideways in an attempt to put some distance between herself and her lover’s wife, but Karen’s arm shot out, her hand catching Jade expertly around the wrist. Its cool tight grip pinched, “We are not done here yet honey.” She gestured to the couch with her head, her sleek hair swaying with the abrupt movement, “Sit.”
Her feet stayed where they were, the small hairs at the back of Jade’s neck prickled as her mind raced.
“I told you to sit.” Karen propelled the smaller woman by the elbow to the bed, “I advise you to do as you are told, after all, I think you’d agree that you and Neil owe me one- or probably more than one if I know Neil, which my dear girl, I do. Very well indeed.” Karen closed the door of the room, pushing a few boxes in front of it, ensuring they would not be disturbed.
Jade’s heart rate went off the scale as an unfamiliar combination of fear, panic, and intense curiosity filled her. She knew she should run, scream, call for help, but something about this woman made her stay precisely where she was. A vision of Neil flashed through her head. Had he set her up to come here with tales of a fictitious colleague? Was he just trying to get rid of her, or, perhaps his wife had orchestrated this, perhaps it was her…
The hand around her bare arm relaxed its grip a little, but Karen didn’t let go, instead she began to trail her neatly trimmed black painted fingernails up and down a square inch of Jade’s skin, sending electric waves of unexpected desire through Jade’s body, “So, let me look at you properly, let me see exactly what my husband sees in a little girl like you?”
Jade trembled beneath the woman’s oppressive gaze. She felt as though she was being appraised before being sent to market. The slim fit jeans and respectable short-sleeved lilac shirt she had believed suitably dowdy for the occasion felt, not only slutty, but see-through. She longed to flick a stray red hair from her eyes, but any movement she made Jade felt would be wrong, forbidden even. Or worse, misinterpreted as encouragement.
The green eyes after which she had been named, felt dim next to the cat like sheen of Karen’s stare, which starting at Jade’s small booted feet , travelled up the length of her 5ft 2” pale frame, making Jade embarrassingly conscious of her hardening of her nipples. This was ridiculous. Although the thought wasn’t unappealing, she certainly didn’t really want to have her first experience of sleeping with a woman with an intimidating wronged wife, especially when she was the one who’d wronged them. Why the hell is my body responding in this way? What is the matter with me? “Let me go!”
“I don’t think so honey,” Karen’s tongue dripped scorn, “you owe me one fuck at least.” Karen ran a sensual digit across Jades chest, “and by the way your tits are reacting to me my dear, I’d say you quite like the idea.”
Jade froze as Karen’s palms pressed against her breasts, forcing her to shuffle backwards, so she was flat against the wall. Her feet felt glued to the floor as her treacherous teats pushed hungrily back at the uninvited pressure.
Karen came closer, dropping her hands to Jades waist, her own rounded chest brushing her opponents. She whispered into Jade’s ear, “Neil tells me everything you know. Everything…”
Flinching, as the other woman’s mouth came to her neck, Jade let out a muffled cry as her skin was nipped and lapped with long languid strokes. Unable to move, and with no choice but to endure the attention, Jade screwed up her eyes and tried to focus on Neil. He hadn’t really told his wife about her… had he? Had there really been others? Surely Karen was just trying to freak her out, trying to extract her revenge in the strangest way possible.
When the red lipstick covered lips met hers, Jade was totally unprepared for the current of electricity that shot from her mouth to between her legs, and was unable to hide the quiet groan that revealed her body wanted this, even if her brain screamed that she didn’t.
Laughing, Karen said, “I knew it, you’re like a bitch on heat.” She pulled the shirt from Jade’s trousers and thrust her hands beneath, scratching sharp nails across Jades flat stomach, “I bet if I touched your pussy it would drip between my fingers.”
Squirming, Jade tried to pull away, but was again prevented by Karen, the wall behind her, and the boxes that littered the floor. “I don’t want this, you’re crazy!”
Karen’s hand moved so fast, that Jade didn’t have time to prepare for the arrival of the slap that stung her cheek, “Crazy? I don’t think so. Just curious girlie, curious about who is currently getting my husbands boxers around his ankles on a Tuesday afternoon.”
Jade’s throat instantly dried shut, as she croaked out a bewildered, “Tuesdays? How did you know that we met on Tuesdays?”
Karen laughed again, this time with less cruelty and more pity, which seemed somehow worse to Jade, as the woman stroked her lithe body. “I told you little girl, Neil tells me everything.” She worked her hands up under her rival’s bra, pinching her nipples until tears sprung up in Jade’s eyes, “Haven’t you worked it out yet?”…
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If you want to find out what happens next, and many other wonderfully kinky tales from my Brit Babe friends, then you can pick up Sexy Just Walked Into Town for FREE as an e-book from all good e-retailers, including-
Don’t forget- you can also buy Sexy Just Walked Into Town as a paperback!
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Come back tomorrow for a host of HOT sexy extracts from Tabitha Rayne, Lexie Bay and Natalie Dae.
Happy reading,
Kay xx
August 13, 2014
Sexy Just Walked Into Town: Victoria Blisse Introduces Mr Zumba!
It’s day four of our peep between the pages of the Brit Babes FREE anthology, Sexy Just Walked Into Town! Today I’m delighted to be handing you over to the wonderful Victoria Blisse…
I am a reluctant exerciser. I don’t mind walking but anything more energetic doesn’t float my boat. However, I love to dance, as anyone who was at the ETO awards recently will attest to.
So the only exercise I’ve ever really loved is Zumba. I’m quite convinced I look like a loon when I’m shaking and hopping and bogeying about but I love it. That’s the inspiration behind red rag to a bull. My Zumba classes have always been full of women, I think I can only remember 2 guys joining in ever. I wondered what might happen if a hot hunk of a man turned up at a Zumba class and from there a story was born!
Here’s an excerpt:
“Are you ready ladies?” Tina shouted.
“And Dean.” We all echoed together. It was a long standing joke after the first week when Tina had to apologise half way through for calling him a lady. Every Monday, every class, Dean took it with an affable smile. What a gentleman.
I was sure he wasn’t so gentlemanly in bed, though.
It was strange dancing in my new clothes, they pulled in when I least expected them to. I was far more aware of my breasts as my t-shirt stretched with my movements and when I reached up a little band of flesh was revealed to the cool air, chilling me. I wondered if Dean had noticed and my cheeks glowed red after far fewer songs than usual.
It was in one of the fast numbers where things started to feel weird. One of the moves involved squatting. Now squatting wasn’t bad if I did it slowly, I could hitch the material at the front of my shorts to loosen things off. But the squats in a particular song were rapid and between other moves so I didn’t have time to alter myself. My buttocks were cupped firmly, the crotch dug into parts I rather they didn’t and by the midpoint I had sworn never to wear the bastard things again. I didn’t care that Dean was getting a good eyeful of my bum, there was too much chafing for me to feel sexy.
Then it happened, that moment that all of us dread. I squatted, maybe I pushed it a bit lower than the rest or maybe the poor stitching just couldn’t take any more but either way I heard a disconcerting rip followed by gasps and giggles from all around me. The damn shorts had split showing off the bright red knickers I had on beneath.
I quickly straightened and stood still. I reached round behind myself and surreptitiously checked out the damage. Yep, the seam had blown from top to bottom, I was completely undone. I had nothing with me to cover up with either. The hot day meant I hadn’t thought to put on a coat before leaving. How the hell was I going to make it home with a big rip down the back of my pants? I wish I’d thought of that earlier, my mum always said I should plan and prepare for all eventualities.
Dean sprinted past me and I wondered what was going on, as the song hadn’t finished. I smiled at Tina who flashed me a sympathetic look, although I had heard her laugh into the microphone a minute earlier, so maybe she was feeling a bit sheepish. There was a low murmur of conversation around me as the song continued and the class moved in unison, but many of them whispered to their friends about the tragedy of the poor woman on the front row.
I was seconds away from running out in sheer panic when Dean ran past me again. He came up close behind me and draped something over my backside. I moved my hands away and he embraced me from behind to push the arms of his hoodie around me.
“This will cover your blushes,” he whispered. His breath tickled my ear.
I pulled the arms of the top around my waist and tied them in a knot. He stepped back and I looked over my shoulder. I smiled and mouthed a thank you. He grinned back before resuming the dance.
I continued too. It felt a little funny. The split material rubbed against me as I danced and the hole extended further. I just hoped it wouldn’t run all the way round to the front. Then I would be in trouble.
“Thanks for that,” I said to Dean after I swigged back my water. “You’re a life saver.”
“No worries,” he responded with a smile. “As much as I appreciated the view, I knew it must have been mortifying for you. I’m glad I could help.”
“Will I be okay to take this home with me, I mean, I don’t want to get on the bus with split shorts.”
“No.” He took a sip from his water bottle and my stomach churned. Was he really telling me I’d have to go home displaying my knickers to the world?
“You’re not going home on the bus, you don’t know what kind of perv might be on there. I’ll give you a lift home.”
“Are you sure?” I let out a sigh of relief and tried to hold in my excitement. He was only giving me a lift home, it didn’t mean he’d want to come in and help me take care of business afterwards.
“Positive.” He pushed the top down on his bottle and slammed it down on the sill beside me.
“Thanks.” I took one last calming suck of water from my bottle then joined him back on the dance floor. I was definitely distracted for the last few routines. It was a combination of feeling the gap in my shorts as I moved and the anticipation of getting a lift home with Dean. The crotch of my knickers chafed against me, the damp cotton clung to my flesh as the stitching of my useless shorts rubbed up between my pussy lips. By the last song, the rip had extended right down the cleft of my buttocks, I could feel where the split stopped just at the bottom of my pussy. When I bent forward to stretch out my legs I imagined Dean behind me, clasping my waist and driving his cock into me. He’d only have to rip my knickers and he could do it.
“Are you ready?” he said afterwards.
I picked up my bag and my water bottle after slipping out of my dance shoes and into my trainers with as little movement as was possible. I didn’t want to rip the shorts any further.
“Yep,” I replied. “Thanks again for helping me out.”
“No worries.” he flashed me that heart melting smile once more. “I couldn’t resist saving the damsel in distress.”
“My hero.” I clasped my hands before me and fluttered my eyelashes dramatically. We laughed together and I almost forgot about the mortifying embarrassment of what had happened earlier. That was until I overheard a stinging comment.
“Well, that’s what you get for stuffing so much arse into such small shorts.”
The words were followed by a gale of titters and I felt tears prick at my eyes. I love my curves, I’m not ashamed of them but it still upsets me when someone makes fun of me because of my shape. I am only human.
Dean put his arm around my shoulder and squeezed me. I looked up and smiled, I knew he’d be able to see the tears glistening in my eyes.
“At least you’ve got some arse.” He said to me in a very loud stage whisper. “Some of the girls here just talk out of theirs.”
I chuckled and looked across at the gaggle of women who’d been so cruelly discussing my misfortune. Each one looked mortified.
“You should be ashamed.” He looked directly at the woman in the middle, the clear ring leader. She at least had the decency to look down at the tips of her expensive trainers.
“And the rest of you too.” None of them could meet his gaze. One lady stepped away from the others and looked at me.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I hope you’re all right.”
I nodded, I couldn’t say anything. I was very grateful for her stand on the matter. She grabbed her workout stuff and walked out of the door, not hesitating to look back on the group who still huddled together, looking to the woman in the middle to see what they should do next.
Dean kept his arm around me and we walked away, out of the hall and down the corridor.
“Some people are just plain nasty,” he said, squeezing me.
I shrugged gently, not wanting him to let go. I loved the feel of him so close to me. “I’m kinda used to it,” I sighed. “And I did kinda bring this down on myself.”
“No,” he said forcefully. “It’s not your fault, shoddy workmanship in the shorts and downright bitchiness from that woman, neither of them are your concern.”
“Thanks,” I smiled. “From me and my bum.”
“You’re welcome,” he squeezed me again. “Now let’s get you home.”
Bio:
Victoria Blisse is a mother, wife, Christian, Manchester United fan and award winning erotica author. She is also the editor of several Bigger Briefs collections, and the co-editor of the fabulous Smut Alfresco, Smut in the City and Smut by the Sea Anthologies.
Victoria is also one of the brains behind the fabulous Smut events, days dedicated to erotica, fun and prizes. Check out http://smutters.co.uk for more details.
She is equally at home behind a laptop or a cooker and she loves to create stories, poems, cakes and biscuits that make people happy. She was born near Manchester, England and her northern English quirkiness shows through in all of her stories.
Passion, love and laughter fill her works, just as they fill her busy life.
You can find often find Victoria procrastinating on Facebook http://facebook.com/victoriablisse , Twitter http://twitter.com/victoriablisse and Pinterest http://pinterest.com/victoriablisse
To find out more check out http://victoriablisse.co.uk
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Many thanks Victoria!!
Don’t forget you can pick up your FREE copy of Sexy Just Walked Into Town from all good e-retailers, including-
Come back tomorrow for a little something from me!
Happy reading,
Kay xx
August 12, 2014
Sexy Just Walked Into Town: Lucy Felthouse Grabs the Wrong End of the Stick…
It’s day 3 of our dive into the Brit Babes FREE anthology, Sexy Just Walked Into Town. Today I’m handing over to Lucy Felthouse, who is treating us to a snippet from her story, The Wrong End of the Stick …
Extract…
Bonnie stifled a sigh. He was doing it again. Staring at her, as he had been every day that week. She was on a fortnight’s training course through work, the only one from her office who’d been sent. As a result, she knew no one and ended up sitting alone in the college’s cafeteria at lunchtimes. She’d had a couple of invites from kindly people also on her course, but she’d turned them down. It wasn’t that she was being rude or anti-social, she just hated people to see her eat. She was a big girl—that was putting it politely—and when people saw her have a meal, she could feel the judgement rolling off them in waves, the thoughts that she was fat because she ate so much.
It wasn’t true. About what she ate, that was. She was fat, and there was no denying it. But it certainly wasn’t her doing. She’d been born to large parents, and despite a healthy diet and plenty of exercise, she was still overweight. All she ever managed to shift was a pound or two here and there, and that was hardly noticeable, particularly on a woman her size. She kept at it, though, resigned to being a larger lady, but determined not to get any bigger.
Because she’d always been big, she was used to the snide comments, the dirty and derisive looks, the open stares. So it didn’t upset her any more, but she still got irritated when people simply gawped at her. Surely one glance was enough for them to ascertain that yes, she was a shapely girl, and then move on. In most cases it was, particularly if she glared at the person in question. But not with this guy. Bonnie was sure he was trying to be subtle, because he often averted his gaze as she trained hers on him. But even if he’d looked away, she could tell by the position of his head and body that he’d been peeking at her. Again.
Now, on day seven, she was almost at boiling point. What the hell was his problem? Had no one ever told him it was rude to stare? She was on the verge of doing just that.
Eating her lunch was an unpleasant task, knowing she was being observed. If she hadn’t been so damn hungry, she’d have left it. But she’d been running late that morning and had committed that mortal sin—missing breakfast. So her chicken salad—with no dressing—was absolutely necessary to avoid making herself feel ill, or passing out, so she devoured every last morsel. She ate faster than she normally would, not because she was being greedy, but because the sooner she finished eating, the sooner she’d stop feeling so damn self-conscious about the guy across the room watching her.
She decided to give him one last chance. When she’d finished her lunch, she’d drink her carton of apple juice, then sit for a few seconds, doing nothing. If he continued to look at her, she was going to stomp over there and give him what for. If he didn’t, then she’d carry on with life and do her best to forget about him and his rudeness…
*****
The Wrong End of the Stick was originally written for Coming Together with Curves, a charity anthology co-edited by myself and Victoria Blisse, whereby all proceeds go to Parkinson’s UK.
As the title states, the book is all about curves, so I sat down to think about what tale I could tell about a big beautiful woman. And that’s when the idea popped into my head – what would happen if a man was so taken with a curvy chick that he just couldn’t stop staring at her? And what would happen when she caught him staring and got the wrong end of the stick? After I’d worked that bit out, the story pretty much wrote itself. I had lots of fun writing this one and am pleased to show it off to a new audience in SJWIT.
*****
Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over 100 publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include several editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women’s Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house. She owns Erotica For All, is book editor for Cliterati, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9
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Don’t forget you can get your FREE copy of Sexy Just Walked Into Town from all good e-retailers, including-
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Come back tomorrow for a dance with Victoria Blisse!!
Happy reading,
Kay xx
August 11, 2014
Sexy Just Walked Into Town: Kd Grace has a Cuppa with Medusa
This week I have lots of my Brit Babe friend’s dropping by for a chat, and to share some of their spicy words from the wonderful Brit Babe anthology Sexy Just Walked Into Town!
Today it’s the turn of my great pal, and this years ETO nominated Best Erotica Author, Kd Grace (aka Grace Marshall)
Kd, is sharing a cuppa with Medusa. Over to you hun…
Thanks for having me over, Kay! It’s always a pleasure to be on your blog, and especially when I’m talking about one of my favourite short stories.
I’m very proud to have my story, Stones, included in the Brit Babe’s anthology, Sexy Just Walked into Town. Stones is a story that was originally published in the fantastic anthology, Seducing the Myth, edited by my sister Brit Babe, Lucy Felthouse. Of all the short stories I’ve written, it’s probably my favourite. I’ve always been partial to myths and fairy tales, and it has always fascinated me how they somehow, no matter how strange the tale, still resonate even in the modern age. When Lucy asked me to write her a sexy myth, I didn’t expect it to be Medusa’s story that I would tell, and yet, who can argue with the Gorgon?
I remember the day I started writing Stones. It was after a walk over Pewley Downs into town. I settled in to my favourite coffee shop and had a pot of tea with Medusa. I sipped Assam and wrote fast and furious while she told me about her sculpture garden, all dark and mossy and mysterious. When the tea was gone, I walked back home with the weather threatening rain, all the while Medusa whispered her story seductively in my ear. There was an idea for a post about how to write sex floating around in my head, which Medusa elbowed out of the way none too gently. And back behind the hedgerow I could just catch a glimpse of the Lakeland witches waiting, not very patiently, for their turn. But, as I said, who can argue with the Gorgon?
I had ironing waiting for me at home and the garden needed weeding that day, but try to tell that to Medusa. By the time I got home, she was already telling me about the landscaper she’d developed the hots for the one who uncovered the rude statuary in her overgrown garden. She kept demanding that I tell her story –her story –no not the gruesome one where she gets her head lopped off in all the Greek Mythology books. She wanted me to tell the truth about her, that she was alive and well and living in Southern California in a huge decaying mansion with an over-run garden that she wanted to put tidy. I never knew Medusa had so many secrets. But who wouldn’t listen with rapped attention when a Gorgon whispers in your ear?
Yup! Stones all started when I unexpectedly had tea with Medusa. Fortunately for me, I never looked into her eyes. But I looked into her mind and into her heart, which was far more interesting, and possibly less dangerous, though I’m not sure about that. She assured me that there’s a lot more to her tale than what fit into the pages of one short story, so I’m hoping one of these days she not just join me for tea, but she’ll stay on for dinner as well and share the rest of her story.
Blurb:
When landscaper and gardener, Paul Danson, takes on the task of clearing the overgrown grounds of the mysterious Magda Gardener’s decaying Victorian mansion, he uncovers much more than the disturbingly erotic sculptures hidden amid the bramble and ivy.
Stones Excerpt:
Then just before I shot my wad, the image of Magda Gardener flashed white hot behind my eyes, an image far more detailed than I recalled seeing. Now my view was close-up and personal, her breasts were full and high, nipples jutting like cherry gumdrops, her perfect pale skin glowing brighter than the lightning flash. In that split second my eyes followed the slope of her belly down to the dark golden curls nestled against her mons. Then, eyes lowered as though she were suddenly shy, she slid her hand between her open legs and with splayed fingers exposed the hard node of her clit and the moist gouge of the valley beneath. I came. I came until the very violence of it threatened to jerk me inside out, as though all my life I’d been holding myself for a tiny glimpse of Magda Gardener.
Not wanting to risk another dream, I settled on the sofa with my laptop. I found myself looking at the works of great sculptors, Michelangelo, Bernini, Rodin, trying to think what made Magda Gardener’s sculptures different. There was sex, there was passion, there was violence, even rape. All were themes of the great sculptors. Bernini captured the very essence of Hades dragging Persephone off to hell – her terror, his lust – and no one could look at that sculpture and doubt what would happen next. Yet the horror was once removed, as though the stone itself has rendered safe and distant what was savage and terrifying, what was a breach of human decency.
But Magda’s sculptures practically burst from the stone into life, into whatever mute terror secretly torments them, as though the sculptor fully understood that our most hideous nightmares are the ones born from the twisting and disfiguring of our most vulnerable passions. Could there be anything more horrendous than our deepest fear realised at the very point of ecstasy? Horror films capture it perfectly. The young couple, caught mid-fuck, always see it coming, and their last battle is the battle between ecstasy and horror.
About K D Grace/Grace Marshall
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.
K D has erotica published with SourceBooks, Xcite Books, Harper Collins Mischief Books, Mammoth, Cleis Press, Black Lace, Erotic Review, Ravenous Romance, Sweetmeats Press and others.
K D’s critically acclaimed erotic romance novels include, The Initiation of Ms Holly, Fulfilling the Contract, The Pet Shop. Her paranormal erotic novel, Body Temperature and Rising, the first book of her Lakeland Heatwave 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. She was nominated for ETO’s Best Erotic Author 2013.
K D Grace also writes hot romance as Grace Marshall. An Executive Decision, Identity Crisis, The Exhibition are all available.
Find K D Here:
Websites: http://kdgrace.co.uk/
http://gracemarshallromance.co.uk/
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/KDGraceAuthor
Twitter: https://twitter.com/KD_Grace
***
Many thanks Kd!! A fabulous extract.
Don’t forget, you can pick up the entire Sexy Just Walked Into Town anthology fro FREE as a Kindle download, or as a beautiful paperback!
Come back tomorrow for a glimpse at an offering from Lucy Felthouse!
Happy reading,
Kay xx
August 10, 2014
Sexy Just Walked Into Town: Lily Harlem’s Secret Servicing
This week I have an extra special treat for you- a selection of extracts from the Brit Babes fantastic anthology Sexy Just Walked Into Town!
FREE as an e-book, (also available as a paperback), Sexy Just Walked Into Town is a fantastic introduction to the wide range of erotica genres there are out there, written by some of the best in the business (she says modestly!)
Made up of 8 top ranking and award winning, UK based, erotica authors, the Brit Babes aim is to bring you top quality, smile making, heart racing, nerve tingling, reading pleasure!
We are kicking off the next 5 days of top class smut with a glimpse at Secret Servicing, a wonderful story by the brilliant Lily Harlem.
Secret Servicing tells the tale of Jen and Kingsley who’ve been dating and falling in love until Kingsley just ups and vanishes while they are at a party one night. Naturally Jen is heartbroken, furious and confused so when he turns up on her doorstep, three weeks later to explain, she’s not in the listening mood!
Excerpt
I shook him off. It was bad enough that he was here, ripping wounds open, but to touch me too? That was more than I could cope with.
Pushing away from the counter, I slipped past him and rushed into the living room. My mind was spinning and my eyes struggling to focus as I stared at a boy band on the TV screen. They were leaping around the stage in tight jeans and big bright trainers, yelling about the best song ever.
“Jen.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him toss his jacket onto the single armchair in the corner of the room, the way he always used to.
Damn, I missed him. Missed the way he moved his big body with grace around my small home. How he sometimes lost it when we made love and took me with him to wild, untamed places where pleasure rocked my world. The sound of him coming, grunting, panting for breath was a beautiful ghost of a noise that would haunt me until the end of my days. And the way he traced my skin after we’d fucked, as though it told him a beautiful story. It was enough to make my flesh goosebump just at the memory.
I loved his body, defined and powerful, because he worked out to prevent his sedentary driving job taking its toll. He had a smattering of chest hair, coarse and masculine, that wound down to his navel and thickened at his groin. On the underside of his upper right arm was a tiny tattoo. A dagger with wings; it was only small but it was super-sexy and tasted delicious when I ran my tongue over it.
“You just left,” I said, muting the sound on the TV. “You just bloody left.”
“I had to—”
“Without saying anything to me? Really? What kind of bastard does that?” I spun around. “No, don’t tell me. Clearly the type of bastard that you are.” I jabbed my finger at him.
“I’m not a bastard, though you have every right to think of me that way.” He frowned and dropped his gaze from my face to my toes then back up again. He licked his lips.
“Don’t!” I said, marching up to him and shoving his jaw to turn his head away. So that he couldn’t look at me. “Don’t act like you still find me attractive, that you still want me, because it’s clear you don’t.”
“I do.”
I kind of growled in frustration. A noise I hadn’t heard myself make before. “Funny way of showing it.”
He caught my wrist in his hand and turned back to me, holding my arm between us. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Too little too late.”
“I got here as soon as I could.”
“What, like you couldn’t call? Couldn’t send me a text? An old-fashioned letter?”
“No.”
I wriggled free from his grip and stared up into his eyes. “You better explain, Kingsley, because I’ve had the worst fucking few weeks of my life wondering if you were dead or alive. Wondering what the hell I’d done to deserve a man I thought I had a serious relationship with just vanishing like that.” I paused, huffed. “Sometimes I even thought I’d dreamt our time together, or that you’d been a figment of my imagination.”
He smirked, and I itched to slap the tilt of his lips.
“Funny, is it?” I snapped. “Funny that you made me fall for you and then trampled all over my heart?”
He grabbed me, both hands on my shoulders, and pulled me close. He stared down at me, his dark eyes flashing and his nostrils flaring. “I told you, I didn’t want to go but I had to. And as for trampling all over your heart, do you think leaving didn’t break mine?”
He was so big towering over me. His body heat was burning onto my skin, his gripping fingers pressing into my flesh. My traitorous hormones perked up. The feel of him against my chest, my legs, the breeze of his hot breaths on my face was creating a bundle of erotic memories of our time together.
I didn’t want to still need the man who’d left me, but I did.
“So why did you?” I whispered. “Go, that is?”
He lowered his head so his mouth was a hairsbreadth from mine. He had a tiny dink in his bottom lip, right in the centre—it was a part of him I adored.
Suddenly he kissed me, soft and gentle, his tongue just peeking into my mouth.
I was so shocked I didn’t respond, just stood there letting my arms hang limp and my mouth be caressed by his. But his flavour was too intoxicating, hot and peppery with a hint of vodka, and I soon found myself matching his kiss, winding my tongue with his.
It had been so long. I’d fantasised about this, being in his arms again. Kingsley fitted me so well, and I fitted him. We were two halves coming together.
What the hell am I doing?
Inspiration
I’d had an idea for this story rattling around my head for a while. It started with the first line “Who the hell do you think you are?”. I liked the thought of someone being so furious that they’d say this and slam a door on an exlover and then being won around by the end of the scene.
In the case of Secret Servicing it had to be damn good reason that Kingsley had just upped and left Jen with no explanation and no contact for weeks. For many this is unforgiveable.
For a while I battled with Kingsley’s motives but then, after watching Strike Back (with Mr H, he loves anything action) I decided that my hero was in the SAS and he’d had to go away on an urgent mission. This is surely a good enough reason for him to leave the girl he loves?
Was it? You’ll have to grab yourself a FREE copy of the ebook Sexy Just Walked Into Town and find out for yourself if Jen kicks Kingsley out or if she forgives her seriously sexy soldier.
****
Find out more about Lily Harlem on her website – http://www.lilyharlem.com and catch up with daily musings on her blog – http://www.lilyharlem.blogspot.co.uk – sign up for her newsletter to be the first to know about new releases, freebies and contests http://www.lilyharlem.com/newsletter-subscription.html
****
I think you’ll agree- that was an excellent way to take a first glimpse between the pages of Sexy Just Walked Into Town!!
Pick up your FREE copy from-
cheap levitra http://drjudy4health.com/ http://mentalhealthnews.org/about/ Amazon. com -http://www.amazon.com/Sexy-Just-Walked-Into-Town-ebook/dp/B00IDAHK16/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1405414552&sr=1-1&keywords=sexy+just+walked+into+town
Amazon UK- http://www.amazon.co.uk/Sexy-Just-Walked-Into-Town-ebook/dp/B00IDAHK16/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1405414459&sr=1-1&keywords=sexy+just+walked+into+town
Come back tomorrow to take a tasty taste from the work of Kd Grace…
Happy reading,
Kay xx
August 9, 2014
Day 14- Two Weeks of Tasty Tasters: Knowing Her Place (The Perfect Submissive Book 3)
I can’t believe it- the final day of our tasty tasters fortnight has arrived already!! I hope you’ve enjoyed it!!! Don’t forget- if you’ve visited each day, you have the chance to win any of the books featured as an e-book by answering the questions at the end of today’s blog!!!
We’re finishing this marathon look at part of my erotica writing archive, with a little portion of the final part of The Perfect Submissive Trilogy- Knowing Her Place.
Blurb
With her head full of unanswered questions, exhausted from her fairytale experience at the hands of Dr Ewen, Lady Tia, and the staff of the adult entertainment service provided by The Retreat, Jess Sanders is desperate to leave Scotland, and return to her usual submissive position at the exclusive Fables Hotel in Oxford. Having been thwarted in his plans to keep Jess at The Retreat permanently, its owner, David Proctor, isn’t willing to let Jess go back to her dominatrix, Miss Sarah, and her employer, Mrs Peters, without sending her on one final mission. Only if she succeeds in her task will Proctor remove the collar of servitude he has locked around Jess’s neck. With a list of five unknown addresses in her hand, Jess Sanders is placed in a car and driven from The Retreat towards England. With no idea what or who awaits her at the first stop, all Jess can hope for is that her journey will eventually take her back to where she belongs. To the Fables Hotel, where Jess Sanders truly knows her place.
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Here’s an extract from the very beginning of Chapter 1…
Miss Jess Sanders fingered the cream envelope she clutched between her fingers. The paper was damp, its previously crisp edges tattered and limp from where she’d been gripping it so tightly.
Her right hand came to her throat. Gingerly, Jess fingered the black leather collar that spanned her neck.
Every part of her ached.
Sitting in the rear of a very comfortable, chauffeur-driven BMW, Jess couldn’t even face glancing out of the window. The journey from the North East of Scotland to wherever it was she was being taken in England seemed to be taking forever.
Only a few hours earlier, Jess had been working at The Retreat, providing submissive services at a business launch party, where 150 delegates from the Fairtasia adult comic production company had explored every inch of her body. Reclining against the leather seat, she closed her eyes. She could still feel the imprint of each hand, tongue, breast and cock that had come her way. Her stomach churned with nerves, anger, fatigue, and her body’s treacherous and constant need for more sex.
Seven months ago, Jess had no idea she was a born submissive.
Six months ago, after becoming bored with a succession of temping jobs, she’d applied for the position of booking clerk at the Fables Hotel in Oxford, landed the post, and her life had changed beyond all recognition. From being a single girl, with a lacklustre sex life and no partner, Jess had become the resident submissive on Fables’ fifth floor. A place which, under the iron management of the very dominant Mrs Peters, provided a special service for adults who wished for their ultimate sexual fantasies to come true without fear of judgement, and in perfect safety.
Initially Jess had been horrified at how well, and how quickly, she’d adapted to this new subservient lifestyle. A lifestyle Mrs Peters had spotted she was suited to long before Jess herself had any idea. But just as she’d settled into her new life and work regime at the hotel, Jess had found herself uprooted.
One of Fables’ most demanding clients, Mr David Proctor, had persuaded Mrs Peters to lend him Jess, along with her dominatrix Miss Sarah, to help him and his manageress, Dr Ewen, set up his own Fables-style establishment in a remote part of Scotland – The Retreat.
Jess and Miss Sarah had been told they were being lent to Proctor to teach his staff the art of submissive behaviour. The reality of the situation, however, hadn’t been quite so straightforward.
Running her little finger along the outer edge of the collar for a second time, Jess fought back the constant reflex to choke. It was so tight. There was no way it could be cut free without damaging her skin.
David Proctor had forced Jess into his collar, declaring her his property unless she proved herself worthy of release. He was the only one with a key to the little silver padlock that held it together at the front of her neck. Even if she did manage to prise the leather free somehow, as the car left the never-ending A9 that tracks the east side of Scotland and joined the motorway, Jess could hear Proctor’s warning words echo in her ears when she’d threatened to call Mrs Peters …
“If you call her, that collar is never coming off. There is only one key and I have it. And before you think it can be cut off, it can’t be done. Not without hurting you. Anyway, if you did get it cut off, you’d have failed, and part of you would always remain mine. I can’t see Mrs Peters liking that very much; can you?”
Jess hated that he was right. Her boss wouldn’t have liked it all. She tried to tell herself that Mrs Peters would come to her rescue – but she physically and mentally shrank back from wondering what the cost of making such a request of the Fables’ mistress would be.
Unbidden, her mind slipped from thoughts of her boss to Miss Sarah. She tried to ignore the increase in her pulse rate, and the automatic swell of her breasts that the image of the tall, slim, demanding dominatrix always caused. For a split second, while they’d been together at The Retreat, Jess had begun to hope Miss Sarah cared for her a little beyond the requirements of work.
Jess knew, although she would never have been foolish enough to say so out loud, that she had formed a strong emotional attachment to the woman who dominated her body day after day in the pursuit of other people’s pleasure. Sometimes she trusted that her personal feelings towards her mistress were genuine but, on other occasions, logical thought took over. She told herself, for the umpteenth time, as she looked out in the night, that she’d probably adopted some sort of warped Stockholm Syndrome feeling to Miss Sarah; like a victim falling for her kidnapper.
It had been Miss Sarah who Mrs Peters had ordered to train Jess when she’d first joined the team at Fables. A training which had included a vigorously kinky, and highly effective, exercise routine that gave Jess immense stamina, teaching her how to remain motionless for prolonged periods of time, and how to delay an orgasm for as long as humanly possible.
At first, Jess had been terrified of Miss Sarah. She’d suspected the dominatrix resented her arrival, especially when Mrs Peters began to refer to Jess as her “perfect submissive.” This was a title Jess now understood had been designed precisely to provoke her, and force her to work even harder for fear of not living up to her requirements. It had nothing to do with Mrs Peters thinking Jess was good at her job –although Jess hoped she did.
But she sent you away … Jess shook her head sharply. Mrs Peters couldn’t have known Proctor had planned to keep her all along. She couldn’t possibly have been in on this from the start. Her boss had been conned by Proctor. They’d all been conned…
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You can buy the paperback versions (as well as the e-book versions) from Amazon UK, Amazon US, and all good retailers.
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So – thank you to all you lovely folks who’ve dropped by every day!! Now- all you have to do is answer these 3 questions, and leave your answer, as well as a contact email address, in the comments. I’ll put all the winners names in a hat, and draw out the winner! If that turns out to be you, you can pick any of the features books as an ebook. Good luck!!!
Question 1 – What is the name of the private BDSM club in The Voyeur?
Question 2- In which country is Digging Deep Set?
Question 3- What is the first name of my kinky courier in Not Her Type?
Happy reading everyone!!
Kay xx
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