Sexy Just Walked Into Town: Victoria Blisse Introduces Mr Zumba!

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August 14  |  eBooks, News  |   Kay Jaybee

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

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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.”



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 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 , Twitter and Pinterest

To find out more check out


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-

Amazon UK

Come back tomorrow for a little something from me!

Happy reading,

Kay xx


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Sexy Just Walked Into Town: Lucy Felthouse Grabs the Wrong End of the Stick…

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August 13  |  Book Publications, eBooks, News  |   Kay Jaybee

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



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…

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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 Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at:


Don’t forget you can get your FREE copy of Sexy Just Walked Into Town from all good e-retailers, including- –

Amazon UK-


Come back tomorrow for a dance with Victoria Blisse!!

Happy reading,

Kay xx



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Sexy Just Walked Into Town: Kd Grace has a Cuppa with Medusa

August 12  |  Book Publications, eBooks, News  |   Kay Jaybee

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.


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.

kd grace subclub

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:                                                                   





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!

Amazon UK

Come back tomorrow for a glimpse at an offering from Lucy Felthouse!

Happy reading,

Kay xx

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Sexy Just Walked Into Town: Lily Harlem’s Secret Servicing

August 11  |  Book Publications, eBooks, News  |   Kay Jaybee

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!


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.


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?”


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?


strike back

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 – and catch up with daily musings on her blog – – sign up for her newsletter to be the first to know about new releases, freebies and contests


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-

Come back tomorrow to take a tasty taste from the work of Kd Grace…

Happy reading,

Kay xx


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Day 14- Two Weeks of Tasty Tasters: Knowing Her Place (The Perfect Submissive Book 3)

August 10  |  Book Publications, eBooks, News  |   Kay Jaybee

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.

KHP - quote


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.


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…


You can buy the paperback versions (as well as the e-book versions) from Amazon UK, Amazon US, and all good retailers.



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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