Kay Jaybee's Blog, page 89
September 24, 2013
Guest Blog- Elizabeth Woodham Shares Some Very Secret Narrative
I’ve had some fabulous guests on my blog over the past few years, and I’m delighted to be able to continue this trend today with a visit from Elizabeth Woodman, a.k.a Secret Narrative…
Over to you Elizabeth Woodham …
I’ve been interested in pornography and erotica since the day I found a stash of magazines for men under my parents’ bed.
Alone, in the house I sat in their room surrounded by images of nude women. I read every word and pored over the pictures. I didn’t masturbate – that came much later but I loved the warm ache glowing deep in my stomach.
I had my first orgasm when I was eighteen, delivered by a married man in his thirties. During our affair, he showered me with gifts, set me up in my own apartment and treated me as if I were a princess. I thought the world of him and was devastated when he was killed in a motorcycle accident.
He is the basis for many of my male characters. I like to explore age-gap scenarios and feature older man, younger woman relationships in It’s a Sin and Her Sugar Daddy.
It’s pleasurable to read erotica, and I devour at least five titles a week. My favourite authors right now are Chloe Thurlow, E A Chapterhouse, Kay Jaybee, Hedonist Six, Jason Jaxx and Martin J Carey.
Now I’m grown up, there are few things I like more than predatory sex. Indulging my inner kitten. I fill my life with hedonistic, sexual adventures, only coming up for air to commit everything to the machine. My last affair isn’t yet distant enough to share, but when Lee is relegated to the past, he’ll appear somewhere in one of my stories.
I use many different methods to write. Sometimes, everything goes into a notebook; I buy new notebooks for each story, filling more than one. I’ve always been passionate about stationery, I find the smell of new paper oddly erotic, I love Kay Jaybee’s story Cardboard, which explores one of my favourite scents.
Many of my tales are set in London. It is the city I know best although I have strong affinity with Rome and Venice. Her Sugar Daddy was written in Venice. I go every year in October and take millions of photographs. I simply adore the city and all the Islands. I could sit on a Venetian bus all day.
I enjoy all types of literature, but prefer to write short erotica, although I’m aware that readers probably prefer a nice chunky novel, teeming with romance, sex and feisty heroines willing to try anything at least once.
The appetite for BDSM triggered by the Fifty Shades trilogy has led to a general acceptance of all things erotic, which I guess must be a good thing. I doubt that everyone wants to be tied to the bedposts and fucked fifty shades of black and blue, but I like it – a lot.
My happy hour involves cybersex, at least once a day, using shared eroticism with my cyberlover to inspire stories with me in the starring female role.
My current work in progress, Falconworth (sequel to Her Sugar Daddy) has Eleanor and Matthew experimenting with all forms of sex, and I’m happy to do the research on their behalf…
Thanks for having me Kay x
Wow- thanks for sharing so much- and I’m totally flattered to be up there on your authors of the moment list. I had so much fun writing the story ‘Cardboard.’ I just LOVE the smell of cardboard boxes. My boys (I work with couriers) have that aroma about them all the time- so HOT!!
If you’d like to check out Elizabeth’s work, then I urge you to visit the following.
Visit me at the Secret Narrative Website
Happy reading everyone,
Kay xx
September 22, 2013
Guest Blog- Chloe Thurlow- The Secret Life of Girls-The Birth of a Book
I’m delighted to welcome Chloe Thurlow to my site today- to share something of a revelation.
Over to you Chloe…
It was the long hot summer of 2003 and I was sitting in the garden with Mother. She had drunk the best part of a bottle of wine when she leaned across the table and said, ‘You have turned into quite a beauty. But then, you already know that, don’t you, Chloe.’
It was the year I turned 18. I had dumped my clingy boyfriend, an older man was my first lover and I had been offered a place at Cambridge. I was content, but Mother always knew how to raise a cloud of black dust to coat the mirror.
Chloe
Mother, a beautiful woman, doesn’t like women. She adores men. When I was growing up and Father was away “lying for England,” as she put it, she had many ‘special’ friends who dropped by the house with bouquets of pink roses and an air of intrigue. Our relationship started with cracks – the silvery stretch marks, fine as ectoplasm, for which I was never quite forgiven. I was sent away to boarding school at 13 and, once during an open day visit when the waiter paid me rather too much attention at Ye Olde English Tea Shoppe in Broadstairs, her rare visits became rarer than ambergris.
The cracks finally spread and the vase of our fragile relationship shattered when Xcite Books published The Secret Life of Girls. I had drawn on my own life to create the story, all literature is a form of autobiography, a form of egoism, and cast my lead character, Bella, with a jealous, imperious mother who is about to marry the smarmy lawyer Simon Daviditz after the recent death of her adventurer father, a handsome Italian.
Bella’s new stepfather has secretly bought Ickham Manor to pay off her father’s debts. Bella had thought the old country house, which she loves, had been left to her, in trust, and this betrayal by her mother drives the plot. Bella wants to get her house back.
Half Italian with velvet brown eyes and as cute as a new kitten, Bella is a natural seductress. She has just discovered sex and finds “older people take it far too seriously. It’s just a bit of fun.” Bella is also an accomplished pianist (it’s useful when characters have skills) and turns her talent to writing pop songs. She records a song entitled I’m A Virgin, No I Really Am, puts it on the soundtrack of the erotic film she makes with twins from her boarding school and finds herself on the road to stardom.
The Secret Life of Girls is a coming of age story, Lolita for the next generation, tongue in cheek, actually tongues find their way into all sorts of places. Bella takes chances and leaps before she looks. She is likeable, I believe, because she is self-driven and enthusiastic – both in her plan to buy back her house and her sexual explorations with the town boy Troy, who wants to be a rock star, her music teacher and the filmmaker seduced into rolling the cameras.
As I was writing the novel, Bella came alive. She took control of my fingertips as they stroked the keyboard and I gasped with wonder at her dazzling exploits. It’s not beautiful sunsets or a beautiful man warming your bed sheets that’s inspiring. Inspiration comes from your work. You write something, look back and sometimes, just sometimes, you think: where did that come from? That’s the part of your work that’s original and is always the best.
The Secret Life of Girls is available as an Xcite paperback and can be downloaded from Amazon.
You might like to watch the 4-minute book trailer made by the incredible Lorraine Masterson – take a peep:
And catch my blog at www.chloethurlow.com
Twitter – @chloethurlow1
www.facebook.com/chloe.thurlow.5
****
Many thanks Chloe, for taking the time to share the story behind The Secret Life of Girls with us today. xx
Happy Reading everyone,
Kay xx
Guest Blog- Chow Thurlow- The Secret Life of Girls-The Birth of a Book
I’m delighted to welcome Chloe Thurlow to my site today- to share something of a revelation.
Over to you Chloe…
It was the long hot summer of 2003 and I was sitting in the garden with Mother. She had drunk the best part of a bottle of wine when she leaned across the table and said, ‘You have turned into quite a beauty. But then, you already know that, don’t you, Chloe.’
It was the year I turned 18. I had dumped my clingy boyfriend, an older man was my first lover and I had been offered a place at Cambridge. I was content, but Mother always knew how to raise a cloud of black dust to coat the mirror.
Chloe
Mother, a beautiful woman, doesn’t like women. She adores men. When I was growing up and Father was away “lying for England,” as she put it, she had many ‘special’ friends who dropped by the house with bouquets of pink roses and an air of intrigue. Our relationship started with cracks – the silvery stretch marks, fine as ectoplasm, for which I was never quite forgiven. I was sent away to boarding school at 13 and, once during an open day visit when the waiter paid me rather too much attention at Ye Olde English Tea Shoppe in Broadstairs, her rare visits became rarer than ambergris.
The cracks finally spread and the vase of our fragile relationship shattered when Xcite Books published The Secret Life of Girls. I had drawn on my own life to create the story, all literature is a form of autobiography, a form of egoism, and cast my lead character, Bella, with a jealous, imperious mother who is about to marry the smarmy lawyer Simon Daviditz after the recent death of her adventurer father, a handsome Italian.
Bella’s new stepfather has secretly bought Ickham Manor to pay off her father’s debts. Bella had thought the old country house, which she loves, had been left to her, in trust, and this betrayal by her mother drives the plot. Bella wants to get her house back.
Half Italian with velvet brown eyes and as cute as a new kitten, Bella is a natural seductress. She has just discovered sex and finds “older people take it far too seriously. It’s just a bit of fun.” Bella is also an accomplished pianist (it’s useful when characters have skills) and turns her talent to writing pop songs. She records a song entitled I’m A Virgin, No I Really Am, puts it on the soundtrack of the erotic film she makes with twins from her boarding school and finds herself on the road to stardom.
The Secret Life of Girls is a coming of age story, Lolita for the next generation, tongue in cheek, actually tongues find their way into all sorts of places. Bella takes chances and leaps before she looks. She is likeable, I believe, because she is self-driven and enthusiastic – both in her plan to buy back her house and her sexual explorations with the town boy Troy, who wants to be a rock star, her music teacher and the filmmaker seduced into rolling the cameras.
As I was writing the novel, Bella came alive. She took control of my fingertips as they stroked the keyboard and I gasped with wonder at her dazzling exploits. It’s not beautiful sunsets or a beautiful man warming your bed sheets that’s inspiring. Inspiration comes from your work. You write something, look back and sometimes, just sometimes, you think: where did that come from? That’s the part of your work that’s original and is always the best.
The Secret Life of Girls is available as an Xcite paperback and can be downloaded from Amazon.
You might like to watch the 4-minute book trailer made by the incredible Lorraine Masterson – take a peep:
And catch my blog at www.chloethurlow.com
Twitter – @chloethurlow1
www.facebook.com/chloe.thurlow.5
****
Many thanks Chloe, for taking the time to share the story behind The Secret Life of Girls with us today. xx
Happy Reading everyone,
Kay xx
September 21, 2013
100th Sunday Snog!! An Archaeological Affair…
Wow!! It’s time for a Blissekiss with the 100th Sunday Snog!!!
I’m delighted to be able to help my wonderful friend, and fellow Brit Babe, Victoria Blisse, celebrate, by taking part in their ‘giant’ kiss blog marathon in aid of the charity, Médecins Sans Frontières. They do a fantastic job of taking love in a practical way to some of the most needy people in the world. To find out more about their important work check their site: http://www.msf.org.uk/ It’s a fabulous international charity and I really hope we make lots of money for them. If you’d like to donate to the cause please check out the just giving page for the event: http://www.justgiving.com/sundaysnog
I wasn’t sure which kiss to share with you today, as I have written a fair few lip clasping moments over the last nine years- so I asked a few of my lovely followers, and this is the kiss they voted for…Harrison and Beth from my archaeological erotic romance, Digging Deep.
Here’s the blurb to give you a little introduction…
As site supervisor on an archaeological dig, in the grounds of the Ancient Roman city of Leptis Minus in Tunisia, Dr Beth Andrew’s hands are well and truly full.
With the intense heat of the day, and the freezing temperature of night eroding Beth’s normal calm outlook on life, directing her half of the excavation is challenge enough, without allowing herself to think about the crush she has on her American co-supervisor, Dr Harrison Harris.
With Ryan, one of her accidently breaking a piece of mosaic on his first day by offering her his muscular body, and one of the American students, Candida Harker, taking a serious dislike to Beth, her private like is the last thing on her mind. But what, or who, is behind Candida’s sharp-nailed hostility and Ryan’s determination to flirt with Beth at every opportunity?
Proving that love and lust really can cloud even the cleverest person’s judgement, distrust takes hold as the dig progresses, pushing Anglo-American academic relations to a point which thoroughly confuses Beth’s erotic and romantic expectations…
****
I think it would be fair to say that Beth and Harrison’s relationship does not have the most promising start, so when they did get together, I wanted to give them one humdinger of a snog- right in the middle of a sun-roasted African olive grove…
…Turning abruptly, she looked directly into Harrison’s eyes. ‘To clarify the important part of this conversation, you fancy me, and – as you must have noticed – I like you too. But you’re worried I’ll screw you over like Linda did?’
‘Not any more I’m not.’ Harrison laid a hand on each of Beth’s cheeks. ‘I’m sorry I thought you could be like her for even a minute. I overheard Candida, and …’
Beth cut over his excuses. ‘You seem to be saying sorry a lot for the assumptions you’ve made about me due to gossip in the last 24 hours.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘There you go again.’ Beth rose up on her tiptoes, and took hold of his rough-stubbled cheeks. ‘Enough now. Enough.’
Harrison’s lips hit Beth’s on a mutual collision course of desperation to taste each other again. To experience a proper kiss, to wind his tongue around hers as his hands slipped to her chest, cupping her breasts through the layers of material which were insubstantial enough for him to easily determine the outline of her bra, was an experience he had, only moments ago, resigned himself never to have.
Now it was happening, his cock was responding accordingly. The high temperatures temporarily forgotten, Beth moaned yieldingly into his mouth. Unable to keep her hands to Harrison’s face alone, reckless of the fact that they could be discovered by any passer-by, Beth eased her fingers down his front, feeling the bulge of his shaft beneath his shorts. All the images she’d had of what his dick would be like, what it might feel like, how it might taste, crowded into her psyche in one go. She needed to know now, before they found Candida, and she did or said something else to ruin things. Deftly unzipping his fly, Beth slid a single fingertip into the gap, tickling his length though his boxers.
‘Oh God, Beth.’
‘Do you want me to stop?’ Panting slightly as she spoke, Beth wasn’t sure she could stop even if he asked her to as she sidled more fingers upwards, edging down the waistband of his underwear enough to get her palm wrapped around his length.
His penis sprang free easily, and as Beth cradled his pleasing weight in her fingers, Harrison’s kisses became more savage, his stubble burning her, his hips thrusting forward. All his intensions never to do this with Beth, let alone do it in an open space where anyone could walk past, dissolved in the sensations of her hold, which compressed and loosened over and over again, until he thought he’d explode in her grasp…
****
Having been an archaeologist myself once upon a time- (I actually worked on the very dig described within Digging Deep)- this novella is particularly close to my heart. That doesn’t mean I’ve made the path of true love run smooth for my characters however! Where would be the fun in that?!
If you’d like to see what trials and tribulations I put Beth and Harrison through, then you can buy Digging Deep as either a standalone e-book, a slim paperback, or within the three novella set paperback, Ahead of the Curve.
Amazon US link- http://www.amazon.com/Digging-Deep-Xcite-Romance-ebook/dp/B00AY1J0OM/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1357654446&sr=8-1&keywords=digging+deep+kay+jaybee
UK link- http://www.amazon.co.uk/Digging-Deep-Xcite-Romance-ebook/dp/B00AY1J0OM/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1357654789&sr=8-1
Or- you could win your very own pdf copy- just leave a comment and a contact email, and your name will be entered into the prize winning draw!!
Thank you for stopping by for a little smooch today!
Don’t forget to check out all the other Sunday Snogs today- you can find all the links you need right here- http://blissekiss.co.uk/100th/
Happy kissing,
Kay xx
September 20, 2013
Review- Elemental Fire by Kd Grace
Elemental Fire is the third and final part of Kd Grace’s excellent trilogy, the Lakeland Heatwave Series.
Carrying on four months after the end of Part 2 (Riding the Ether),- the gorgeous Anderson (I just love this character), is still trapped in the ether, the demon Deacon’s menacing presence is looming over everything, and Tara Stone is only just holding her coven together.
The world of sex magic is brilliantly bought to life, as Kd Grace entwines us on a journey that is both sexy, intriguing, and at times, spine tinglingly terrifyingly and thrilling.
Elemental Fire introduces us to new characters- including the revenge obsessed Kennet Lucian- who’ll stop at nothing to end Deacon’s reign of terror- including joining forces with a rather delicious fire demon…
I’ll say no more, for I would hate to spoil this excellent series for you.
Once again Kd Grace has produced a work of art encapsulated in the written word. The Lakeland Heatwave Series is a must read.
I’m delighted to have permission from Kd to share an extract from Elemental Fire with you today- are you sitting comfortably…
‘If it’s any consolation, I don’t trust him either.’
Tara wasn’t surprised to hear Cassandra’s voice behind her. She didn’t look up from her efforts with the thyme seedlings she was planting on for Fiori’s kitchen and for Sky’s apothecary. The greenhouse was awash in the dry heat scent of the Mediterranean.
‘He’s offered us everything we want, an end to all of our suffering. He’s all but promised Anderson back in our arms. Everything. All tied up in a shiny ribbon,’ Tara said, continuing to work.
Cassandra came to her side and took over preparing the pots for the seedlings. Tara was still amazed at the woman’s natural feel for gardening when she had never touched the earth until she came to Elemental Cottage. Somehow it felt like the young succubus had always been a part of the Elemental Coven, and Tara felt the ache of her loss of Anderson as deeply as she felt her own.
‘If something sounds too good to be true, it usually is,’ Cassandra said. ‘And who in their right mind would make a deal with a demon?’
‘Probably not the question to ask, Cassandra,’ Tara said. ‘You know we all would, in a heartbeat, if it would get us what we want so desperately.’
‘Will you dream with him?’ Cassandra asked, as she handed Tara the last pot.
‘I don’t see that I have much choice, do I?’
‘Is it really that much of a hardship?’
They both turned to find Kennet standing in the door of the greenhouse.
Tara laid aside her dibber and gently touched Cassandra’s hand feeling the welcome buzz of her power. ‘Go and tell the others to prepare the Dream Cave.’
Once she was gone, she turned her attention back to her seedlings.
Kennet moved inside and pulled the door to. ‘I understand you not trusting me,’ he said. ‘I’d feel the same way, I’m sure. But Tara, I’m not the enemy. I need you to believe that.’ He rested a hand on her shoulder, and she stiffened.
Carefully he removed it and turned his attention to stroking the leaves of the thyme plants. ‘You’re afraid,’ he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.
‘Aren’t you?’ She continued to fuss over the seedlings, mostly just to stave off the panic of his nearness.
‘Terrified.’ His answer surprised her.
She turned to face him and as she looked up into his eyes, it suddenly felt like she had looked into the sun.
‘But not for the same reasons you are,’ he said. He crooked a finger under her chin so she couldn’t look away. ‘Why do you make love only with ghosts?’
Everything in her wanted to turn and flee before it was too late, but she stood her ground and held his gaze. ‘It hasn’t ended well for the living when I’ve had sex with them.’
‘Are you afraid it won’t end well for me?’
She didn’t answer. She was afraid of what might happen if she tried to speak. There were too many memories too close to the surface, memories she had taken lifetimes to bury deep, and this man had dug them all up in only a few hours.
He took both of her hands, ignoring the compost on her fingers, then brushed a kiss gently across her lips, making her want like she hadn’t allowed herself to want in a very long time. Then he pulled away and brushed the pad of his thumb along her lower lip. ‘I’m already dead, Tara. Physically I may not be a ghost, but I’m already dead. Everything that I lived for was taken from me seven years ago.’
She pushed him away. ‘Seven years? Only seven years? You’re not dead yet, Kennet. You haven’t even begun to die. You haven’t had nearly enough years to really beg for death, long for death, pray that it’ll come in the night and set you free.’ She reached for the staging table for support. Her knees were weak, her insides felt like snow on the wind. ‘But then you realize that you’ll be no freer of him dead than you are alive. So no, you’re not dead, Kennet. Don’t even wish for it, and if you think your pet demon will protect you, then you don’t know demons.’
This time he grabbed her by the front of her shirt and pulled her to him with such force that she gasped out loud. He took her mouth with stunning anger, like nothing she’d ever felt before, and she returned his assault with her own rage, meeting his tongue thrust for angry thrust, bruising his lips with the force of mouth and teeth, biting and aching, as he bit back. Then he pulled away breathless. ‘She’s not my pet demon, Tara and, trust me, I fucking know demons.’
Then they were kissing again as though they would tear each other apart, as though they would rip the very breath from each other in angry, scorched shreds. His hands moved to her hips, and he hoisted her onto the staging table, shoving aside the gypsy skirt until she could feel the rough wood against the silk of her panties. He fingered aside the crotch and she tried to squirm away from him. ‘I don’t fuck the living,’ she gasped against his mouth, then she bore down as his thick middle finger found its way between her labia and thrust upward. She pulled him to her even as she tried to push him away with her words.
‘Yes you do, as of this morning you do. You need it, I need it, and it’s time you stopped letting Deacon call the shots.’
She felt his last words like a slap and like an aphrodisiac at the same time, and everything in her felt wet with need. ‘Do it, goddamnit,’ she growled. ‘If you’re gonna do it, do it and don’t make me wait!’ She grabbed for his fly with an awkward grip from a bad angle that caused him to flinch and push her hand aside. ‘Damn it, get them off,’ she gasped, ‘I can’t wait!’
With trembling hands he practically ripped the zipper out of his fly, then shoved his jeans and boxers down around his hip and his erection bounced free from its exquisite nest of copper brown curls. The view was brief, and she told herself in a sliver of a thought that was left to her, that sometime she’d like to linger and explore, though in her heart she didn’t really believe she’d ever be afforded that luxury, so she’d take what he’d give her.
Once again he tore at her panties until they were stretched over one buttock and she could feel the cool air of the greenhouse against her gape, then while she held herself open, he cupped his hands under her arse and lifted her from the table, down onto his heft. With a grunt and a slight thrust, he pressed up into her, and she yielded like soft butter, then gripped like a fist. Then she grabbed him by the hair and pulled his face back to hers, and their tongue dance matched the rhythm of the thrust and glide. Grunts became feral cries, throats became raw, and vision blurred in searing heat that had nothing to do with Lucia.
‘Great Goddess,’ he gasped. ‘If I’m not dead, I’m dying now, and it’s your fault.’
She bit his neck hard and he flinched and surged inside her tight grip. ‘You asked for it, and I don’t believe in making people beg.’
‘I can’t think of a better way to go,’ he grunted.
In truth, she wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t dying right along with him, but it didn’t really matter, dead or alive, it was pretty much the same to her.
‘Fuck,’ he breathed between barely parted lips. ‘I can’t hold back any longer, woman. I have to come now.’ And as his cock convulsed inside her, and his groin raked upward against her clit, she came in great sobs that made her throat ache, that made her body feel like some animal, curled deep at her centre, had awakened ravenous and needy with an emptiness to fill that was bigger than the void. And strangely enough, Kennet Lucian felt like he might begin to touch the emptiness.
For a long time, he held her there, both of them gasping for breath, her arms and legs wrapped around him, his large hands cupping her bottom. ‘Tara,’ he whispered against her ear. ‘Please trust me.’
She ran a hand through his hair and nipped his ear with her teeth. ‘Then prove to me that I can.’
He had just settled her onto the floor, and they were straightening and tidying when Cassandra knocked on the door and stepped inside. ‘We can’t get to the cave, Tara. There’s flooding. It was only then that Tara noticed it was pouring rain…
****
If you’d like to buy Elemental Fire, or indeed the first two books in the series, Body Temperature and Rising and Riding the Ether, they are all available from all good eBook and paperback retailers, including Amazon-
Happy reading,
Kay xxx
September 16, 2013
Review- The Pleasure Dial by Jeremy Edwards
A couple of years ago, I had the great pleasure of reviewing The Pleasure Dial by Jeremy Edwards, the very first e-novel published by the erotic e-publishers, OC Press. Now The Pleasure Dial has undergone a revamp with 1001 Nights Press, has a gorgeous new cover- and deserves another review.
This rare thing, the comic e-novel, is set in the world of the 1930’s Hollywood- and it is a corker!
The year is 1934, and amiable New York gag writer Artie Plask has taken the West Coast plunge. His first day on staff with a top radio show introduces him to the irresistible Mariel Fenton, a wit among wits who immediately takes an interest in all aspects of Artie’s life—especially his private life. As Artie finds his feet in a world of blustering comedians, pansexual sex goddesses, timid screen legends, exhibitionistic scriptwriters, and self-infatuated geniuses, Mariel leads him on a zany journey up and down the pleasure dial—a giddy romp through Hollywood that’s chock-full of airwaves showdowns, writing-room counterplots, devious impersonations, naked meetings, and a sensuality-drenched assortment of erotic escapades.
The opening line of the book alone was enough to hook me- it is quite possibly the best opening line I have seen in any erotic story ,“Artie was looking up the skirt of his favourite Macy’s mannequin when he decided to head for the West Coast”… Inspired!
I smiled and giggled all the way through this romp – just as I did the first time I read it- as Mariel leads Artie on a kinky dance of yummy-ness through a glittering new world of both sexual and career fuelled possibilities.
Fear not however- the humour doesn’t detract from the sensuality of the piece- this tale is toasty!
I have permission from the lovely Jeremy Edwards himself, to share with you a snippet from The Pleasure Dial…and I guarantee it will whet your appetite for a truly enjoyable and sexy read…
****
‘…After the writing session broke up, Mariel continued typing. “We don’t want any loose ends,” she explained. “Do you mind waiting for me?”
“Not at all,” said Artie. “I have to change back into my street clothes anyway.”
“Would you mind waiting to do that, too? I can just see your long, lean torso out of the corner of my eye … and it’s motivating me to work faster.”
When she’d finally returned the portable typewriter to its case, Mariel’s eyes scoured the pool area. “Where’s my feather?” she asked.
“Oh!” said Artie. “Damn, I don’t know. I must have set it down somewhere when Heffy burst in.”
“I don’t see it.”
“No, neither do I. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry. I have a jewelry box full of them. Why don’t you go change, and we can get out of here.”
Once in the house, Artie took a wrong turn on his way to the bathroom where he’d left his clothes, accidentally heading toward the library instead. He was about to reverse course when he heard a compelling sound from beyond the closed library door: the sound of laughter—lazy, but undeniably sexual, female laughter.
Heeheeheehee … hmm-hmm … oh!-a-heeheeheehee …
He immediately visualized Mariel’s bountiful quill. This would account for its absence—someone was enjoying the gentle bliss of being tickled with it. Precisely where, he could only imagine.
Unless, of course, it was merely Elyse recalling her favorite bits from today’s script session.
HeeHEEh’heeeeee. Oh, yes, Howie, my pussy lips—the feather, the—ooh, yes yes, tickle my pussy, ti-iiiiiiiiiheeheeheehee …
Feather: check. Elyse: check. That was definitely her voice—and Artie thought she was doing a commendable job of improvising, playing a scene that had certainly not been in today’s script.
He automatically slipped a hand into a conveniently located swimsuit pocket.
“What program are we listening to?”
Mariel had tiptoed up behind him, and suddenly her arm was around his waist and her voice in his ear.
He cocked his head. She sidled around him so as to hear better, and he watched the smile broaden on her face as she became oriented to the content of the entertainment.
“Do you think it’s wrong of us to listen?” he whispered.
“Not where Elyse is concerned—and, by extension, anyone she consorts with. She’d love to know we were listening. In fact, I’ll make a note to tell her, later on.”
Her gaze drifted down to Artie’s swim trunks. “You got a head start on me, didn’t you?” She yanked Artie’s hand from the pocket, replacing it with her own—at the same time maneuvering her body behind him, to urge herself against the muscles of his buttocks. His bare feet shifted with lewd, silent ecstasy on the carpet runner.
I bet those lovely titties would like a little feathering too, mmm?
Howard’s voice, a flat monotone in the writing room, had a more liquid, insinuating quality under recreational circumstances.
Oooh-hee, ooh-HEEEE, yes-y-eeeeee … You’re gonna make me c-c—
“Oh, fuck, Artie, I can’t wait.” Mariel spun him around and wedged him up against the wall opposite the library. She’d found the rubber in his other bathing-suit pocket; Artie had decided from the first day in this environment that it would be convenient to keep them in each and every garment.
She sprang his cock out of the trunks with one hand while shoving her panties down with the other, nimbly stepping out of them while raising her skirt. Artie slapped her ass and pulled her tight against his chest, hoping to communicate with her nipples through blazer, blouse, and bra.
With the rubber in place, she was now struggling to mount him—Artie saw that she had not staged the scene felicitously, given their height difference. He loved her assertiveness, but she’d have to practically climb him like a tree to get her cunt around his cock. “Let’s switch places,” he advised.
“Mmmgh,” she agreed.
This was more like it. Mariel braced herself against the wall, while Artie bent at the knees and lifted her by her hot little ass-cheeks.
Though they’d been pacing this as a frenzied sprint, they slowed down as her lubricated flesh inched its way onto him, both parties devotedly silent while each discrete instant of sensation filtered from their junction through their pleasure-response systems.
“You feel as good as she sounds,” Artie whispered when the connection was complete, knowing Mariel would approve of the remark. Sure enough, the comparison seemed to further energize her blazing libido. Taking advantage of the wall at her back and the hands on her ass, she wrapped her legs around Artie’s thighs, steadied herself on his shoulders, and used every ounce of her strength to squeeze her horny cunt up and down his shaft—now bouncing, now lingering, fucking her bottom off while Elyse’s shrieks and giggles reverberated in the background.
A sustained alto wail from Mariel’s lips told Artie she was getting very close. Sure enough, her left hand disappeared from his shoulder and joined the party down south, claiming its mistress’s clit. With her weight fully supported by his arms and his dick ready to explode any second, Artie had an inspiration.
Relying on her rhythm for momentum, he took the few backward steps necessary to cross the hallway, then pivoted in midfuck. “Turn the doorknob,” he muttered urgently. Mariel complied instantly, streaking the knob with girl juice from her clitty finger.
Everything happened at once. The door swung open and Elyse, who was radiantly naked, screamed in climax, her eyes widening with extra delight as she registered her audience. Writhing on the library sofa, she extracted every atom of pleasure from the quill Howard held to her crotch, while Mariel pogo-sticked on Artie’s cock, her endless orgasmic moan almost as loud as the blonde goddess’s scream. Artie pumped and pumped inside the hug of Mariel’s thighs, his buttocks muscles working in double time and his hands holding her bottom cheeks with such passion that he felt her flesh moulding itself around his fingers.
****
I have deliberately not given away anything about the plot here- because I really don’t want to spoil your read- and read it you must!!
The Pleasure Dial is available directly from the 1001 NightsPress in paperback and as an eBook, as well as Amazon UK, US, and all other good Kindle, Nook, and PDF Download suppliers.
Happy Reading,
Kay xx
September 13, 2013
Review- Secret Life of Girls by Chloe Thurlow
Review- Secret Life of Girls by Chloe Thurlow
Blurb
The Secret Life of Girls is a fictionalized memoir of Bella, an 18-year old girl at finishing school on the English coast. When her father dies, her mother remarries a man who secretly buys the manor house left in trust to Bella to pay off her father’s debts. The betrayal cuts Bella to the core – the house is a part of her. She has nothing left – except she is beautiful, bold and unafraid to use sex to get revenge – as well as for her own pleasure.
Review-
Coming of age erotica has never been this good! Packed with action, Chloe Thurlow draws us along with Bella- not a young woman to be trifled with- who has worked out at a very early age just what a powerful weapon sex can be- and how to use it- particularly against her gullible new step-father, Simon Daviditz…
On the death of her father, Bella is taken to the Convent of Saint Sebastian and the Holy Martyr finishing school, run by some of the least moralistic nuns I’ve ever read about. Oh how I’d like to meet Sister Nuria one day….
Bella has only been in her boarding room for a few moments, when she is being intimately examined by Jack (female), one of her new room mates. This situation could so easily be seen as contrived, or as adding sex for the sake of it, rather than to the furtherance of the story- but this is very much not the case. Clichés are neatly avoided, and every scene within the novel adds to Belle’s complex journey as she learns to use her body- and more importantly- her quick brain- to advance her future, and stay one step ahead of her rival Tabby Van Deegan…
Although I wouldn’t recommend The Secret Life of Girls to first timers to erotica (it plays close to the edge with age limits and incest) – lovers of the genre have to read this refreshingly well crafted book.
****
You can find more information about Chloe Thurlow on her blog- http://chloethurlow.com/
You can buy The Secret Life of Girls from all good book stockists, including-
Amazon UK- Paperback- http://www.amazon.co.uk/Secret-Life-Girls-Chloe-Thurlow/dp/190776190X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1377713568&sr=1-1&keywords=the+secret+life+of+girls
Amazon UK- Kindle- http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Secret-Life-Girls-ebook/dp/B008GO4E6I/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1377713568&sr=1-1
Amazon US- Paperback- http://www.amazon.com/Secret-Life-Girls-Chloe-Thurlow/dp/190776190X/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1377714099&sr=1-2&keywords=the+secret+life+of+girls
Amazon US- Kindle- http://www.amazon.com/Secret-Life-Girls-Romance-ebook/dp/B008GO4E6I/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=1-2&qid=1377714099
Happy Reading,
Kay xx
September 11, 2013
Guest Blog- Is That You There?- L.C. Wilkinson
Today I am delighted to welcome the super lovely L C Wilkinson to my site to talk about pen names, the paranoia of selling (or not!) and her fantastic new book, All of Me.
Over to you LC…
Is That You There?
After the initial excitement of an offer to publish my debut erotic romance had died down, one of my early concerns – after the ‘I hope it sells’, ‘God, I hope people like it’ and ‘What will my mother think?’ (“Very good. Now… how’s the weather been down there?” My mum is a no-nonsense Northerner adverse to both prudish behaviour and displays of excess pride in her offspring) – was whether or not to use a pseudonym?
I’d submitted using a pen name because I’d met Hazel Cushion, MD of Accent Press, of which Xcite is an imprint, in another life when I worked as a journalist and editor, and whilst I was confident that Hazel was far too high up to read submissions I wanted to be certain there could be no nepotism.
In the end I decided to use a nom de plume for the actual book too because I’ve published short stories and a novel in another genre – broadly women’s fiction – and whilst I’m not established enough (yet?*!) to have a massive following (I wish!) I wanted to make the distinction between the two writers in me. However, I felt very strongly that I wanted to stand up and be counted as an author of erotic romance given that there’s, sadly, still some snobbery concerning the genre in some literary circles. Of course, this is a personal decision and I understand and respect those who prefer to remain anonymous. We’re all different.
And so, after much deliberation, trying on several hats and driving the BigFella (my husband) demented, I settled on L. C. Wilkinson. The use of initials inspired by EL James, naturally, and my own surname, which is different to the BigFella’s and my boys’. I like the fact that when spoken L. C. sounds like Elsie, which, to my mind, conjures images of a grey-haired, elderly lady; the antithesis of your stereotypical author of erotic romance – whatever that might be.
The reaction of friends and colleagues to the smutty author in me has been, predictably, mixed. Some have wondered why I am ‘selling-out’ (What?!*!) and cheapening myself, which only goes to show that they are unfamiliar with the genre given the quality of much of the work out there. Good erotic romance has the ingredients of all good literature with red hot sex to boot. Others are pleased for me and intrigued to read the new work, or at least ask me about it. And, of course, there have been the usual array of saucy comments, commonly directed at my husband: Bet it was fun helping her research it; are you the inspiration for the hero (hahaha!). This response is a strange one, but understandable. No one asks crime writers how many victims they killed during the course of their research for example, but then almost all of us have sex and, mercifully, few commit murder. But it is precisely because of this that it is so damn hard to write arousing and original sex scenes. It is all too easy to slip into cliché. For my part, writing the love scenes was by far the most challenging aspect of writing the novel.
As a reader of erotic romance and a follower of the groups and threads on sites like GoodReads I am all too aware just how discerning the audience is. I only hope that they like reading All of Me as much as I enjoyed writing it. I am completely and utterly hooked on erotic romance, and I hope to get better the more I write.
Blurb: Actress Flick Burrow’s career is in the doldrums. Dumped by long-term boyfriend at the altar and nudging forty she escapes to Italy touring with a theatrical company.
Orlando Locatelli is a successful businessman. He’s rich, clever and drop-dead gorgeous.
When the two meet, the attraction is instant. But Orlando is 15 years Flick’s junior; he’s the controlling director’s son; his stepmother is possessive and destructive. He’s trouble and he’s determined to have her.
Sparks fly when a tour romance turns into something altogether more dangerous, threatening to reveal pasts, and desires, both lovers are keen to bury.
Excerpt: Mr Hot led me through to a brightly lit room, the light scorching my eyes after near darkness. He pulled up a wooden stool and gestured for me to sit. I did as I was instructed. Row upon row of bottles of oil, condiments, herbs and spices lined shelves that covered an entire wall. It was a store cupboard, and the strip lighting was harsh; every fine line, blemish and open pore would be visible. Inwardly, I cursed my lack of foundation once more. I felt exposed, stripped right down, and vulnerable. I shielded my eyes, allowing my hand to drop low enough to conceal most of my face.
‘Better here, fewer people. Can I get you a drink? Cup of tea?’ he said.
‘Something stronger might be better.’ I attempted to cover my embarrassment with humour. He did not laugh, or even smile. ‘Water would be great. Wouldn’t do to be seen drunk. Imagine what they’d make of that,’ I added quickly.
Through a gap in my fingers I watched him push open swing doors with considerable force and sashay out, revealing the bustle of a hectic lunchtime kitchen; he barked out an instruction in a language I couldn’t quite place. Italian probably, possibly Spanish. This was no ordinary waiter in more ways than one. He returned moments later.
Despite his blistering good looks, or maybe because of them, I wanted to get the hell out of there; I gulped down the water. ‘Thank you. Can you show me the other way out now please?’
‘It’s not too soon?’
‘I have to be somewhere.’
At the exit, he paused and looked into my eyes, the hazel fading to black as his pupils dilated. He ran his tongue over those sensual lips. I couldn’t breathe and for a moment I thought I might pass out. The attraction I’d felt was mutual; he was devouring me with his gaze; his desire was palpable. Had it been a movie, or an episode of the cheap drama I’d been in, we’d have thrown ourselves at each other, kissed passionately, before being interrupted by an angry chef brandishing a meat knife. I coughed; it broke the spell.
He leant forward to grab the door handle, the bouquet of his aftershave mingling with a distinct, very masculine aroma. I was soooo tempted, but this was real life, and my personal life was enough of a mess. He opened the door, leant forward to look up and down the street before turning back to me and nodding that it was clear. Neither of us knew what to say. I had no idea if he knew, understood, or even cared why the press were hounding me, and I wasn’t inclined to explain.
I held out my hand. ‘Thank you. You saved my life.’
He took my hand, but rather than shaking it, as I had intended, he lifted it to his mouth and kissed the back. A charge raced up my arm, exploding in my mouth and groin. ‘It was nothing. Anyone would have done the same.’
‘Thanks anyway,’ I gasped. I had to get out of there, and quick. My internal red light was flashing: danger, danger, danger.
I stepped into the street and, unsure which direction to take, turned right and walked; the skin on my hand still thrumming from the touch of his lips. I wanted to look back, and tried desperately to resist the urge. After a few metres, I gave up and turned my head. There was no sign of him.
****
All of Me is published by Xcite in paperback and e-book formats. You can buy the book here and here.
About L.C.: I grew up in north Wales and now I live by the sea in Brighton with three fellas (my ginger sons and my husband) and a cat called Sheila. After many years working as a journalist, copywriter and editor of hagsharlotsheroines.com, I write fiction and work part-time as an editor for Cornerstones Literary Consultancy. All of Me is my first romance for Xcite. I hope that it is the first of many.
To find out more about L. C. visit her site – www.lcwilkinson.com – for news and freebies. Or follow her on Twitter: @ScorpioScribbleYou’ll also find her GoodReads, and she loves to hear from readers and other writers so do get in touch.
A big thanks to L.C (or should that be Elsie!!) for coming to visit today!
Happy Reading,
Kay xx
September 10, 2013
Guest Post- Genesis Deflowered by Matthew Stillman
I’m delighted to welcome a new face to my site today- Matthew Stillman, talking about his brand new book, Genesis Deflowered- I bet you’ve never looked at The Bible like this before…
Over to you Matthew…
Picasso had his “Blue Period” from 1901 to 1904 where he painted, essentially monochromatic, paintings exploring the depths of his understanding of the capacity of the color and his connection to the color. In so doing he was able to use blue in a way that his contemporaries couldn’t.
But Picasso was a master of using color through his career. Bold, dynamic, nuanced, wide ranging.
Similarly erotica readers (and writers) have remarkable access to a wide range of “colors” to find out what moves them. Interested in BDSM on your palette? Or spanking? Mermaids? Pony play? All valid colors on a palette. Some of my favorite books on understanding the nature of sex and relationships are “Sex at Dawn” by Christopher Ryan and Cathilda Jetha, “Mating in Captivity” by Esther Perel, and “Arousal: the secret logic to sexual fantasy” by Michael Bader. They have broadened and deepened my palette and understanding.
Besides being simply a turn on erotica has to, in my mind, serve a larger purpose. For me, that purpose is to have people less afraid of sex, more playful with it, and more accepting of its myriad manifestations. So while it is important to either find “colors” that aren’t being used in the erotic space (range) it is also important to penetrate subject matters so that we can express something heretofore unknown about the subject and our sexual connection to it (depth).
But not everyone knows how close they are to broadening their palettes, understanding and comfort levels around sex. Forget about “Sex at Dawn” or “50 Shades”. Some libraries are much smaller.
In my new erotic novel “Genesis Deflowered” I hope I am covering both range and depth by bringing erotic energy where it is rarely found. In the book that a huge majority of people in the English speaking world probably have, and certainly have at least passing knowledge of – The Bible.
While The Bible doesn’t leap to mind as prime source material to write erotica consider this
Genesis has nearly 500 suggested erotic acts within its pages. None are described
The sexual theology of the Western world springs from Genesis
Seems like pretty rich source material to me.
In “Genesis Deflowered” I took the King James Bible’s version of Genesis and added text to it in that same terse, poetic and chaste Biblical style to turn that religious classic into an erotic novel. In doing so, characters become more human because they actually show human desires and actions.
Writing erotica in Elizabethan English is unusual but I am, hopefully, going deep with a “color” on the erotic palette that isn’t often used to explore how to connect the sensual and spiritual urges that many find set against each other in their culture and in themselves.
—–
Abram Sojourns to Egypt
And there was a famine in the land: and Abram went down into Egypt to sojourn there; for the famine was grievous in the land. And it came to pass, when he was come near to enter into Egypt, that he said unto Sarai his wife, Behold now, I know that thou art a fair woman to look upon in thy skins, with the ochre within thine eyes. The joints of thy hips move with love for the LORD, and for his creation. Therefore it shall come to pass, when the Egyptians shall see thee, that they shall say, This is his wife: and they will kill me, but they will save thee alive. Say, I pray thee, thou art my sister: that it may be well with me for thy sake; and my soul shall live, because of thee. For I crave for my soul to live so that I might be with thee joint to joint.
And it came to pass, that, when Abram was come into Egypt, the Egyptians beheld the woman that she was very fair. The princes also of Pharaoh saw her, and commended her before Pharaoh: and the woman was taken into Pharaoh’s house. And Sarai kept Abram safe by her hand. The Pharaoh craved to know the secrets under the skins of Sarai, and to see her beg for the pleasures of her thighs. And the ochre in her eyes enflamed Pharaoh. And Pharaoh did use his crook upon her. And Sarai ventured to show her fervour when she clasped the Pharaoh. And with flail and crook did they know each other unto the day. And the welts upon their backs and thighs were cooled by kisses; and kisses did cool the welts. Sarai bit upon his crook with ardour; and he brought seed from within Sarai, and watered it. And Abram did keep watch, and abide by them in the night. His staff stood in secret for Sarai.
And so Pharaoh entreated Abram well for her sake: and he had sheep, and oxen, and he asses, and menservants, and maidservants, and she asses, and camels. And the LORD plagued Pharaoh and his house with great plagues because of Sarai Abram’s wife. And Pharaoh called Abram, and said, What is this that thou hast done unto me? Why didst thou not tell me that she was thy wife? Why saidst thou, She is my sister? so I might have taken her to me to wife: now therefore behold thy wife, take her, and go thy way. And Pharaoh commanded his men concerning him: and they sent him away, and his wife, and all that he had. And Pharaoh took a maiden whom he begat by his concubines called Hagar, and he gave her to Sarai for a handmaid.
—-
Where many see the Bible as the pathway to Heaven, others say it should be covered in a brown paper bag because it is so, so filthy.
There are hundreds of sex acts implied in the first book of the bible (and sadly none initiated by a woman). How has nobody ever described how each of them would have played out in biblical language?
If the writers and translators of the Bible had been a little less prudish we might have an entirely different relationship between sex and religion than we have now. In Genesis there is sex before marriage, threesomes, incest, group sex, kinky fetish cuckolding, gay sex and more.
Isn’t it time that you read the Bible for the dirty parts?
Using the seminal King James Bible in its Elizabethan English as spring board, “Genesis Deflowered” makes the beginning of the Bible come out as a sexy, readable and fun erotic novel.
“Genesis Deflowered “: equal parts holy scripture and blaspheming scandal
COMPETITION!!
Free ebook (mobi or epub) to the person who confesses to the greatest blasphemy in the comments (judged by Kay)
Buy links-
About the Author
Matthew Stillman is a born and bred New Yorker. With the exception of college he has always lived in Manhattan. After scoring a BA in Comparative Literature from SUNY Geneseo, he got into programming at Food Network and developed shows like Iron Chef, Good Eats and many, many others. He also started improvising with the Upright Citizens Brigade shortly after they first arrived in New York, and he still does.
“The End of Poverty?” was his first film. He conceived of it, wrote the first treatment, co-produced it and spoke at the UN four times about it after it premiered at the Cannes Film Festival and went to 40 festivals around the world.
After a lifetime of a making out with literature, inner spiritual work from different traditions, creativity and play. He has written “Genesis Deflowered”. It is his first full length book. And, of course, he started with a genre that he may well have just made up – Biblical Erotica written in Elizabethan English.
He is married to an exceptional woman from Sheffield in the North of England. He blogs at stillmansays.com where he writes about his ongoing creativity experiment in Union Square. And you can find him on twitter at @stillmansays
*****
Many thanks to Matthew for visiting today- don’t forget to leave me a comment if you fancy snagging a free copy of Genesis Deflowered!!
Happy Reading,
Kay xx
This blog was bought to you courtesy of -
September 9, 2013
The Voyeur- eBook Giveaway on Goodreads!!
I’m delighted to announce that from today, 9th September, until 23rd September, you can enter into the Goodreads Book Giveaway to win a copy of The Voyeur!!!
All you have to do, is click the box below!!!
Good luck everyone!!
Kay xx
Goodreads Book Giveaway
The Voyeur
by Kay Jaybee
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