Review-The Pleasure Dial by Jeremy Edwards

February 7  |  eBooks, Reviews  |   Kay Jaybee

Review- The Pleasure Dial-An Erotocomedic Novel of Old-Time Radio  By Jeremy Edwards

Today I have great delight in reviewing the latest work from Jeremy Edwards – The Pleasure Dial was the very first e-novel published by the erotic e-publishers, OC Press.

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 was enough to keep me reading- 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 of a read, 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 in any way detract from the sensuality of the piece- this tale is toasty!

Jeremy Edwards

Once I had finished reading The Pleasure Dial, I asked Jeremy if he would like to share his favourite extract from the tale with us- and here it is…and I guarantee it will whet your appetite for a truly enjoyable and sexy read.

Her ass. Her beautiful, bare ass.

Artie hadn’t known quite what to expect from a visit to Sheridan’s massage room, here on the second story of an office building in downtown Santa Barbara, but his attendance was being amply rewarded.

After a glass of the sherry that the specialist had offered upon their arrival, Mariel had undressed behind a screen and wrapped herself in a plush blanket. She had then deposited herself, facedown and with her wine-warm bottom exposed, on the table. Her cheeks glowed under Sheridan’s work lights, the plump little curves center stage in what felt to Artie very much like a dramatic presentation.

Sheridan, a thin, blond man with serious eyes and fingers like a concert pianist, rolled up his sleeves.

“Comfortable?” he asked solicitously.

“Oh, yes,” Mariel attested. “Very.”

“Excellent,” said Sheridan. “Then I’ll begin.”

With a deft, professional motion, he placed both his palms against the swell of Mariel’s bottom. The veins on his arms bulged as he applied an even pressure to the two hemispheres—something Artie noticed only in his peripheral vision, as his focus was naturally on the ass, not the arms.

With his thumbs operating independently from his fingertips, the masseur applied a sustained kneading motion. Evidently encouraged by Mariel’s moans, the masseur continued in this fashion for a while, using left hand and right to describe symmetrical arcs of pressure that rolled simultaneously outward from the meridian that was Mariel’s ass crack.

Benefiting again from his peripheral vision, Artie saw that Mariel’s toes were slowly wiggling.

He felt that maybe he should be taking notes.

“Are you ready for the pitter-pats?” Sheridan asked, leaning forward.

“Mmm,” his charge answered.

Artie appreciated how apt the masseur’s onomatopoeia had been as his gentle hands began showering soft, precise pats all over Mariel’s derriere. With the downtown sleepy on a Sunday and thus little noise through the open window, the *pitter-pat*s quietly dominated the auditory environment, while Sheridan’s measured breathing and Mariel’s intermittent moans provided a subtle counterpoint.

Eventually the pitter-pats accelerated. And, as in a symphonic interplay between percussion and strings, their frenetic stimulation alternated with deep, sensual massage movements whereby Mariel’s flesh was at once wrestled and nurtured. Her moans were positively earthy at this point, and Artie could smell her arousal as she presumably—as advertised—moistened the table beneath her.

His cock—his whole lap, it seemed—was achingly hard. He wondered how this treatment would conclude—or did he mean *climax?* And he wished, somehow, he could participate.

Something caught his eye. Beside him, Mariel’s clothes waited in a tidy stack—capped, like Mariel herself under normal circumstances, by the cloche. The cloche with the feather.

No sooner had the inspiration hit than the quill was in his hand, his eyes meeting Sheridan’s with an unspoken “May I?” as he rose. Turning to look at Mariel, he saw the look of encouragement on her face.

The pink cheeks danced as the feather skimmed and skipped, brushed and stroked. Mariel was so relaxed that instead of giggling, she responded to the titillation with syrupy dollops of lazy chuckles. Artie felt feverish as he passionately tickled her bottom, his dick pulsating with excitement. Meanwhile, Sheridan watched discreetly from the other corner of the table.

Then came the climax Artie had wondered about. Mariel spread her legs and straddled the massage table, sitting up and clutching her blanket to her breast to ride her makeshift horse. She had trapped the feather under her bottom so that the quill end stuck out like a tail and the tickly end, one could assume, pleasured her cunt lips as she ground against the table.

Artie watched with fascination as Mariel orgasmed in this bizarre but erotically compelling pose, her face radiant with silent bliss. As she collapsed back to her previous position, he felt his own quiet orgasm seeping into his pants.

Sheridan spoke. “You know, I’ve always wanted to grab her feather and do that.”

“You should’ve just asked,” Mariel mumbled.

I have deliberately not given away much about the plot here- because I really don’t want to spoil your read- but read it you must!!

The Pleasure Dial is available directly from the OC Press as well as other good Kindle, Nook, and PDF Download suppliers.

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2 Responses to Review-The Pleasure Dial by Jeremy Edwards

  1. Samantha says:

    What a lovely review! Thanks, Kay! xo

  2. Thank you so much for hosting and praising my Pleasure Dial, Kay! You’ve made author–as well as every single character–very, very happy.