It’s the last week of August, and therefore the last week of me being Xcite’s author of the month!
I thought it would be great to celebrate by taking a dip into my Xcite works, and revive the Tasty Tasters Fortnight I ran on my site last year!
So brace yourselves, for I am about to fill the next seven days of my blog with chunks and tit bits from the Kay Jaybee archive!!
Then next week, to welcome in September with a bang, I will be handing over to my fellow Brit Babes, who will be sharing some of their delicious offerings with us!
What better way to kick off Day 1 this exploration into my past works, than to offer you two books at once! Fancy a bit of Quick Kink?
Let’s start with a mini morsel from Quick Kink One…
Quick Kink 1 recounts bite-sized erotic tales of dominance, submission and bondage, as well as instruction, voyeurism and romantic lust.
From the unusual use of a dictionary (A Delivery of Words), the bizarre obsession of an Egyptologist (Bastet), and the afterhours indulgences of the staff recreating life in a strictly run Victorian manor house (Through the Crack), to the tale of an intensely sexy female threesome (Routine), Quick Kink 1 provides twelve delicious fixes of straight, bi, and lesbian fantasy.
Both Quick Kink One has a Brit Babe rating of…
A Delivery of Words
‘I have a confession to make.’
As my courier sat down opposite me at a small table in my local café, I waited for him to expand on this unexpected statement. What could this man, who I didn’t know beyond the fact that he was called Joe, and that he had driven his van to my home once a week for the past eight months, have to confess to me? After all, we only see each other for 30 seconds of chat every seven days, while I sign for my parcels of editing. That works out at an average of two minutes interaction a month. I was intrigued.
He dropped his deep brown eyes to his plate of chips, whether in mock-confession or with genuine embarrassment, I’m not sure. ‘Ever since you told me what you did for a living – you know, what you write about, what you edit and that, well, I haven’t been able to shift you from my head.’
When he looked up to see my reaction to his stumbled statement, despite his 30 or so years, Joe blushed like a teenager.
It would be untrue to say I’d never fantasized about him and what might happen if I was ever to see the inside of his big blue van. But then that’s my job, to fantasize; to create an erotic situation out of anything and anywhere. We are certainly not talking hearts and flowers here.
Joe’s short, strawberry blond hair had obviously been recently cut, and his green polo shirt was either on its second day of wear, or he’d got very hot in the van that morning. A vague, not unpleasant, odour of maleness mixed with deodorant, wafted across the table at me. I could just see the bottom of a tattoo poking out from the edge of his short sleeve. His arms were muscular, but not over-worked, and had probably been built up via the heavy lifting of parcels and packages rather than working out in a gym.
Leaning forward, I fixed him with my professional stare, but still allowed a flicker of a smile to play at the corner of my eyes. ‘The idea of me sitting here innocently writing obscenities in public? Or the fact that I spend most of my time thinking about sex? What’s the thing that gets you going exactly?’
He returned my steady look, but I could see amusement struggling to escape from the corner of his lips, which gave an involuntary twitch as he sat fiddling with his fork.
‘I asked you a question?’
Joe grinned, giving me a glimpse of surprisingly white teeth. ‘I guess it’s the innocence thing.’
‘Innocence? That’s not a word I’m usually associated with.’
‘I bet it’s not!’ He picked up a chip and slipped it into his mouth. ‘At least, not by people who know you. To the rest of the world, well, you look so, so …’
‘Ordinary?’ I smiled to let him know the word wasn’t offensive to me.
‘Well, yes, I mean, you’re attractive and all that, but you don’t look like a queen of porn.’
‘I don’t look a threat, so people tell me things. Their most intimate secrets. It’s a bit like being an actress really. I adopt different personas to get information and stories out of the unsuspecting public, and then I write about what they’ve told me.’
‘So you don’t make it all up then?’
‘Not always, no. Sometimes I invent short stories, but most of the time I record the weird and wonderful exploits of the unbelievably warped British public.’
I could tell he was mildly disappointed, so I leant forward, and gave him my flirtiest conspiratorial look. ‘Any stories you wish to share with me? You could star in my next book.’
Now he looked really embarrassed. ‘Not really. Nothing unusual enough for you, I’m sure.’
‘Would you like there to be?’
And that’s where we left it. I’d already finished my coffee, so I decided to let Joe ponder what I’d said, and went home to do some writing.
He came to see me the next afternoon.
The day after that, Joe found me in a coffee shop. He sat down and told me a story.
‘She’d obviously been expecting me, and had prepared carefully for my arrival. In fact, I’d told myself I wouldn’t be calling on her that week, for I had no parcel to deliver, but of course I went. She knew I would, and I did.
She opened the door to her terraced home with a knowing expression on her face, and I felt momentarily cross with myself for being so weak, so predictable. But that feeling didn’t last, as the woman I know only by her initials, led me into her home.
It wasn’t at all what I’d expected. No silk throws, no red leather furniture, no fluffy, feathery cushions. It was just a house like any other. She seemed to understand my disappointment, or at least my confusion, and explained how the house was a short-term rental for the duration of her writing project in the south-west of England. She told me, quite firmly, that she wasn’t a tart, she was a writer.
With the mention of her writing, I felt a frisson of lust shoot down my spine, and my eyes were drawn away from my companion to the desk in the corner of the living room. It was cluttered with pens, pencils, and reams of paper. Next to a closed lap-top lay a pile of books, a few of them obviously tomes on erotica, but the one on the top was a dictionary. Somehow the very ordinariness of the dictionary extinguished my desire; it seemed wrong for someone like her to own any literature that wasn’t lurid in some way.
Her gaze followed my own, and she picked up the large, obviously well-thumbed, paperback. “The dictionary. The dirtiest book ever written.”
Lowering her voice until it reached a slow, husky, sexy tone, she said, “It contains every word I use. Every word. Every sentence I write comes from in here.” Standing only inches away from me, her unblinking eyes, bored into mine. “I mix the words, change them, arrange them into whatever I want … whatever you want.”
The author was almost whispering now, and I was hanging on her every utterance. All I could think of was the very nearness of her, the fact that I was so close to her moist lips, her neat breasts and her soft, bobbed red hair.
“Say a word Joe. Any word from the dictionary.”
I regarded her blankly for a second, distracted from my craving for her body by a request which seemed quite out of keeping with our situation.
“A word, Joe. Say the word you want to say right now.”
My brain clicked into gear as she fanned the dictionary in front of my eyes, as if it was some sort of naughty sex toy, and I said, “Kiss.”
I had expected her to kiss me straight away, but she didn’t. She nodded, as if to say I’d done the right thing, took a step away from me, and turned to the relevant page of the dictionary.
“Kiss: to touch with the lips in an expression of greeting; to join lips with another in love or desire.” Then, placing the book down on the short sofa behind her, she turned back to me, “I think we can manage that, don’t you?”
Then her lips met mine. Her kiss went way beyond the dull description she’d just read. This was a woman who knew how to kiss, how to have sex with just mouth to mouth contact and, when she pulled away, I felt bereft, but she just looked calm and returned to flicking through her dictionary.
I said nothing. I realised then, as I beheld her cool composure, what I suppose I’d known all along – that this was just research for her. An interesting anecdote for her to share with me, and then immortalise in her next anthology. I should have minded, had some pride or something, but I didn’t, for she was already asking me for another word, and my brain was reeling with possibilities…
If you want to know what other words this lucky courier discovers, then you can buy Quick Kink One from Xcite with 25% off!! Or on…
See you tomorrow for some Quick Kink Two!!