short stories

Hitting 200…

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March 4  |  BDSM, Book Publications, eBooks, erotic romance, News  |   Kay Jaybee

Believe it or not, this month I am celebrating my 200th publication! Whether long or short, flash fiction, poem, or novel, romance, erotica, or crime, every single piece of writing that I’ve managed to find a publisher for feels as much as a miracle now as it did when I began to write 12 years ago.

That 200th story was my recent novella release, Wednesday on Thursday.

Wednesday on Thursday

Although I’ve written 12 novels and 9 novellas as Kay Jaybee, Jenny Kane or Jennifer Ash, if it wasn’t for the short story trade I’d have never have written any of them.

Before I even dared to try and write something longer than 5,000 words, I’d had 40 short stories and poems published. I’m so glad that’s what I did. Writing those early stories taught me so much. They were my apprenticeship; a place where I learnt that every word in every single sentence counts.

Sexy Just Walked Into Town

If you’d like to read a few of those short stories, then why not check out The Best of Kay Jaybee.

Blurb-

Fourteen of the very best erotic tales of dominance, submission, bondage, and romantic lust, are delivered with lashings of kink from the pen of Kay Jaybee. From the sexual adventures recalled by a woman as she stares at her favourite shirt, to a deliciously dirty orgy on a bed of cardboard boxes, the after-hours education of a rookie soldier, and the bizarre obsession of an Egyptologist, each story shows why Kay Jaybee has been hailed as ‘a master of the craft of erotica’ (Oysters and Chocolate). As a girl writes messages of lust on the body of her best friend’s lover, and a mistress’s employment of ropes and chains on her slave co-insides with the application of emulsion, we discover just how Kay has earned her reputation for producing ‘super-heated kinky stories,’ (Kd Grace), which are ‘a sublime pleasure to read’ (Violet Blue). 

The stories tucked inside The Best of Kay Jaybee come from the Xcite anthologies I’ve had work included in since 2008, (such as Maggie, The Basic Rules of Anal Sex, and The Fuck-Me Cabbie),  as well as my three solo Xcite collections, Quick Kink One (The Shirt), Quick Kink Two (The Bride wore Rubber) and Yes Ma’am (Lying in Wait).

As you’d expect from me, there are a fair number of dominance and submission related stories included in this anthology, but there is also a heap of romantic lust, explored fantasies, and happy kinky threesome play.

If you’ve never read any of my work before, then The Best of Kay Jaybee is a great place to start.

Here’s a little taster from…

The Fuck-Me Cabbie

‘That’s him over there.’

‘The one stood on his own? Brown hair, tight jeans, cute arse?’

‘That’s him.’

‘Does he have a name?’ I put my drink down onto the sticky plastic topped table before us, not taking my eyes from the back view of the man leaning against the bar.

‘Well, the men call him Mr Greedy?’

‘And the women?’

My friend smiled at my expression, she knew me very well.  ‘They call him the Fuck-Me Cabbie.’

‘Really?’

‘Oh yes.’ The satisfied lilt to Jenny’s voice made me drag my eyes away from the self- styled Adonis at the bar, to the air of happy memory plastered across her face. ‘He claims to have had sex with nearly every female passenger he’s carried in his taxi between the ages of 18 and 50.’

‘Is that so?’ I picked my Cola up and took a long thoughtful draft as I rocked back on my chair.

‘So he says.’

‘And you believe him?’

Jenny said nothing, but her smirk spoke volumes as she peered at me over the top of her glasses.

‘And was it worth it? Is he that good in reality, or is it all arrogant attitude?’

‘I can’t argue with the arrogant bit, but the man’s bloody hot. Annoying; but true.’

Running a finger around the rim of my empty glass, my eyes returned to the cabbie, mentally willing him to twist round so I could get a proper look at his face. As if picking up on my mute signal, he turned, a pint glass in his hand, and stared directly at me. Unashamedly, I stared back.

It was his eyes that struck me most. They screamed non-stop endless desire; a desire which would somehow never be satisfied. The square cut to his chin and his bulky, yet toned frame, simply bellowed sex, as if a neon sign was permanently flashing above his head saying “Get it here- NOW.”

The other signal he gave out, perhaps even stronger than the aura of lust, was conceit. He’d been told once too often that he was good in the sack. This cabbie needed taking down a peg or two.

‘Go and talk to him.’

Jenny’s eyes flickered at me mischievously, ‘what are you thinking?’

‘He needs cutting down to size.’

‘How?’

‘You’ll see.’ I kept eye contact with him. He didn’t need to say anything to let me know what he was thinking. ‘I want you to tell him there is a threesome on offer. Do not tell him who’ll be involved, but feel free to let him make his own assumptions. It’s not our fault if he jumps to the wrong conclusion is it.’

Jenny looked momentarily disappointed, ‘Won’t it be us?’

I couldn’t help but smile at her. Jenny’s neat chest had been poking at the flimsy covering of her t-shirt and bra ever since we’d started discussing the taxi driver.

‘Of course it will be us. But it might not be him…are you game?’

‘I’m game. Tell me.’

Pointedly ignoring the cabbie, I shifted our chairs closer together so that no one could overhear what I was about to divest to my companion.

Regarding me with renewed interest, Jenny was obviously eager to get our plotting underway immediately, but was still a little unsure about my plan, which I had to admit, was a bit complicated. ‘Do you think he’ll go for it? He’s not known for sleeping with a woman more than once. No return fares as it were.’

‘I’m sure you could lay it on strong. After all, he’s had you, but not me. You’re a beautiful woman honey, use that to our advantage. Sod feminism for once! Paint him a picture he can’t refuse. Tell him about our casual relationship, and I’ll see you and him at the back of the car park in an hour. And don’t forget to switch your phone to vibrate.’

Jenny stood up, readying herself to approach our quarry, her short floaty skirt swaying suggestively around her long legs. I re-focused my blue eyes onto the cabbie’s gaze, communicating what I hoped was an expression of mutual understanding. Then, with a deliberately seductive glance at Jenny, I trailed a polished fingernail down her pale neck, with the intention of planting the idea of all three of us being together firmly in his mind…

****

Buy Links-

Amazon UK- http://www.amazon.co.uk/Best-Kay-Jaybee-ebook/dp/B009YYRM3Q/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1352239489&sr=1-2

Amazon US- http://www.amazon.com/Best-Kay-Jaybee-ebook/dp/B009YYRM3Q/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1352239753&sr=1-1&keywords=best+of+kay+jaybee

***

I never dreamt I’d still be writing 200 stories after that very first one – a short tale called ‘Jen and Tim’ which was published in an anthology called Lips Like Sugar (Cleis Press). I certainly didn’t think I’d be living under 3 pen names! Nor did I think I’d be teaching creative writing- and yet here I am doing all those things! (You can check out my workshop business here)

Thank you to all of you for buying enough of my books to keep me going for so long!

Kay xx

 

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Grab My Equipment!

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November 16  |  BDSM, eBooks, erotic romance, News  |   Kay Jaybee

Over the years I’ve written over 100 short erotic stories for a vast array of different mixed author anthologies. Three of my kinkiest tales can be found in my mini- e-anthology, Equipment…

Equipment

Blurb

To his lust driven delight, Lee Cooper’s opinion that his girlfriend simply doesn’t have the Equipment to take control in the bedroom is quickly and deliciously.

Meanwhile, Kim is sick of her gorgeous neighbour Jack bringing home a non-stop string of unsuitable women to screw, while completely failing to notice the girl right under his nose. Taking extreme measures she sets out to prove she is more than just The Girl Next Door.

Mark’s girlfriend is Searching For Her– the perfect woman to make her lover’s dreams come true. A quest which leads her into the path of more than one willing young lady…

****

Here’s an little snippet from Equipment to whet the appetite…

The moment I saw his naked arse, I knew that I wanted to fuck it, and I told him so. It was the first time I’d seen Lee Cooper unsure of himself. For a split second a veil of uncertainty, possibly even fear, had crossed his generally ultra-confident square features. It didn’t last though, and he was soon shrugging my statement off with a lad-ish laugh, ‘you ain’t got the equipment baby,’ as he eased his solid cock into my willing body.

I started working part-time at the garage, where Lee is employed as a mechanic, three months ago. The first thing he said to me, as his clear brown eyes appraised my slight frame and red plaited hair was, ‘I’m looking forward to pulling on those pigtails honey.’ From anybody else I wouldn’t have taken a comment like that, but somehow from Lee it was okay. He exuded a sort of sexual confidence, and the instant and silent knowledge that eventually we would fuck radiated from his every pore. It would have been foolish of me to deny that unspoken understanding, and I privately looked forward to the day I’d discover if the tattoos that adorned his muscular arms, extended to his chest and down his legs.

That was three flirtatious months ago, and it had been fun letting the erotic tension build between us, getting more intense as the weeks of inaction ticked by, but finally, Lee’s resolve had broken. He told me, as he hammered an impatient fist on my front door during his lunch hour, that he’d been changing the oil in a beat-up old motorcar, when he’d realised he couldn’t hold on another moment.

After the glorious frisson of the wait, there was always the risk that the reality wouldn’t live up to the expectation. I hadn’t been disappointed however, far from it.

I smiled to myself as Lee dragged his grubby boiler suit back on, and disappeared down my garden path at a run. His words echoed in my head, “You ain’t got the equipment baby.” A wicked twinkle began to shine in my eyes at the prospect of what lay ahead for the unsuspecting mechanic, and speaking across the empty room, I said, ‘Well actually Mr Lee Cooper, I have all the equipment we could possibly need…’

The thought of his tight arse, of claiming it as my own, of taking control of Lee for a while, and perhaps robbing him of a portion of his macho-attitude, grew within me, and I began to lay plans for the temporary domination of this alpha-male.

On Lee’s next visit, predictably the following lunchtime, I embarked on a mission to both enjoy myself, and to lull him into a false sense of security, neither mentioning how delicious I found his backside, nor my eventual intentions for it. As his calloused hands made their way over my naked chest, pinching my nipples with exquisitely painful squeezes, I groaned with genuine pleasure. Stroking the beautifully toned body that pushed against mine, I relished the sight of the tanned multi-tattooed chest I’d so recently discovered.

It was on Lee’s fourth visit that I kept my hands exclusively on his backside. Patting it gently, smoothing it, and caressing it, in a totally non-threatening way, as my new lover pumped himself swiftly in and out of me.

On the fifth visit Lee announced he’d had a dream about tying me up. His face, when I told him that he could do just that, was a picture. I’m not sure if he was more turned on by the fact he could do anything he liked to me, while my hands were secured behind my naked back, or by the feeling of power my helplessness gave him. I suspect the latter. As Lee’s warm tongue explored my stomach, and ducked skilfully between my spread legs, I wallowed submissively in the blissful feelings that engulfed me.

During visit number six, a rare after work encounter, while Lee was both fucking and smacking my arse with stingingly wonderful efficiency, the last few parts of my plan fell into place, and I knew that my need to take his firm neat backside was reaching the point of obsession.

A little over two weeks after Lee had first turned up on my doorstep, I decided the time had come to act. Laying out my sex toys in a neat row near my pillow, I hid them from view with my duvet. Removing the clutter of clothes from the battered old armchair I keep in the corner of my bedroom, I adjusted its position so that it was at the foot of the bed. Then I took off my regular jeans and t-shirt, and put on my tight black Lycra bodice and matching knickers. The caress of the clinging material against my flesh was enough to increase my pulse-rate, and boot-up the arousal I had been so carefully keeping in check.

Lee’s distinctive knock on the door came at almost exactly seven o’clock as we’d arranged. I smiled quietly to myself at his promptness and, wrapping myself in a black silk robe, descended the stairs to collect my unwitting victim.

‘Wow babe,’ his appreciative eyes ran over my robed frame, ‘like the silk.’ He reached forward, and I allowed Lee to engulf me briefly in his arms, his stubble scratching my cheeks as his mouth came to mine. Then, I broke away from his magnetic warmth, holding him at arms length.

‘You like what you see?’ I grinned at Lee, my green eyes reflecting into his brown ones, ‘you want to see more?’…

****

If you’d like to find out what happens to Lee next, you can buy Equipment from all good e-retailers, including…

All Romance

Amazon UK

Amazon.com

Happy reading,

Kay xx

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A little something in rubber: Quick Kink Two

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September 22  |  BDSM, eBooks, erotic romance, News  |   Kay Jaybee

I thought I’d share a little something with you this weekend from my VERY kinky anthology, Quick Kink Two .

How about a helping of some good old KJB, BDSM action?

The Bride Wore Rubber

If I had been a newspaper journalist reporting on the wedding I would have used the headline, ‘The Bride Wore Rubber.’ Red rubber to be precise. Not in dress form, but sparingly, in the manner befitting the chief slave of an exclusive S&M club owner.

Thin straps of rubber circled her neck and supported a harness, which looped around her ample tits, pushing them up unnaturally high. Her flat stomach was bare, but her legs were tightly encased in rubber stockings, which moulded themselves perfectly to the contours of her body, outlining her firm thighs and slender calves. This skin-tight covering stopped short of her backside, revealing her round tanned arse and her smoothly shaved pussy in all their glory.

There was an elegant dignity about the girl. She was tall, slim, blonde and conventionally beautiful, but there was more to her than that. A quiet strength seemed to emanate from her, a strength that the addition of a red eye-mask, blinding her better than any bridal-veil, didn’t diminish. A leather lead was clipped to a matching choker which was, in turn, secured around her slender neck. The choker, in deference to the occasion, was studded with three small diamonds.

As the time for the ceremony drew near, I stood amongst the oddly semi-dressed assemblage of guests. They had broken into two clusters, one on each side of the club’s dancehall, leaving a makeshift aisle running down its centre.

At the end of this aisle, awaiting his slave-bride, stood Michael. I don’t know his surname, but I do know he is a very powerful man, with powerful friends, who like to play dangerous games. He gave off an air of quite arrogant control as he surveyed the scene before him. He, unlike his guests, was wearing full wedding regalia, a grey morning suit, cravat and top hat. Handsome in a rugby player kind of way, Michael stood head and shoulders above his best-man, whose chest was bare, and whose black leather trousers squeaked slightly as he paced up and down the aisle, waiting edgily for the procession to begin.

lead

From my privileged place at the side of the crowd, I glanced towards the doors. The increased noise of activity coming from behind them indicated that the bridal party was almost ready. I looked towards the rather uncomfortable reverend, who was waiting for what, I’m sure he hoped, would be a swift service.

I tensed, as did every guest in the room, as Mendelssohn’s Wedding March struck up over the clubs sound system, and the hall doors swung open.

The immediate whoops and cat calls from the overheated guests showed their instant approval of the party’s attire.

Holding the bride’s lead was a large man, who like the groom, wore a morning suit. A whisper from the crowd informed me that he was the brides’ future brother-in-law, and instantly I could see the family likeness. The solid chin, the square frame to the body, the arrogant dark blue eyes.

The bride followed him, blindly, sedately, humbly, on all fours. She crawled along, her breasts swinging beneath her, her arse burning with sharp red wields, that had obviously been administered by a whip only moments before. In addition, the bride had received an extra facet to her outfit. A string of red Thai beads had been threaded into her anus. I could only imagine how she must feel, debased and humiliated before this mass of largely familiar faces.

Two bridesmaids completed the group. Both similarly bedecked in skimpy white rubber harnesses and leggings, their faces were solemn and bowed. These were Michael’s other two personal slaves. I wondered if they were jealous of their colleague’s status, or if they were relieved that it wasn’t them blinded and on all fours in front of the entire club membership.

As the bride reached the makeshift altar, the crowd bunched forward, each person eager to watch the ceremony at close quarters.

I slipped to the front of the room, manoeuvring my way to a space behind the vicar, where a hired, wide-eyed, camcorder operator already stood, his mouth open in disbelief.

On reaching her Master, the brides blindfold was eased up, and she kissed his shoes, as the lead was passed to the groom. 

Michael looked down approvingly at his slave for a second, before allowing her to stand next to him. She rose with amazingly controlled poise, making sure the beads didn’t have a chance to escape from their intimate confinement, and therefore denying her intended the excuse to publicly punish her.

roses

The vicar began the service, and with what seemed an alarming adherence to tradition in the circumstances, the wedding speeches and vows began, just as if we’d been stood in any church or registry office in the country. I listened intently over the background buzz of the guest’s subdued chatter. The bride’s name was Mary. I wondered if her husband would ever use it, or if she’d be called Slave for the rest of her life.

When it was time for the groom to pass his slave her wedding ring my stomach contracted as, rather than a ring, the best man passed the groom what looked like a silver staple gun, but what I soon discovered was actually a piercing device.

The expression on the bride’s face showed that she hadn’t expected that. I watched intently as the groom bent and sucked hard at Mary’s left nipple, pulling it with his teeth until it stood proud and firm. Then on a pre-arranged signal, one of the bridesmaids stepped forward and wiped a small cloth, presumably of antiseptic, over the extant nipple. Once that had been applied, Michael wasted no time before putting the gun in place, piercing and ringing his wife like a chattel.

The bride’s cries of pain as the gold band was permanently secured onto her were partially drowned out by the booming voice of the clergyman saying, ‘by the giving and receiving of this ring, I now pronounce you Man and Wife, Master and Slave.’

I scribbled frantically into my notebook, as, like every eye in the room, I observed the silent tear streaked face of the bride. She was turned slowly, so that the whole room could see her newly swollen tit with its golden accessory. The congregation cheered manically as the vicar raised his arms and cried, ‘You may now kiss the bride.’

Nodding his thanks to the vicar who hastily departed from the room, Michael turned his bride to face him, and lifting her bowed head to his, kissed her tenderly, so tenderly that I wondered whether there was a genuine feeling of love there. This thought only lasted for a second, as he roughly pushed Mary to her knees, making the bead tail clatter as it hit the floor.

Michael called in a voice of authority, ‘Ladies and Gentleman, the wedding party will adjourn to my private study, you guests may amuse yourself freely, and then, in one hour, dinner will be served.’

His last few words were almost buried beneath the violent eruption of noise from the dance floor, as an instant orgy exploded around me. It took only seconds for groups and couples of men and women, women and women, and men and men, to be pushed up against one another, mouths, tits, hands and cocks everywhere.

lips

I however, had been instructed to follow the wedding party.

When I reached the large old fashioned style study, I was offered a leather chair in the corner of the room, alongside my still stunned filming partner. My breathing had become rather shallow, and I was all too aware that the events I’d witnessed had had a rather unprofessional effect on me. I attempted to compose myself, for I was sure that things were about to get worse.

****

If you would like to read the rest of Quick Kink Two, it is available from Xcite, Amazon, and all good e-retailers.

Happy reading

Kay xx

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A Little Equipment

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April 16  |  BDSM, eBooks, erotic romance  |   Kay Jaybee

Equipment and Other Stories’ is an anthology containing 3 HOT stories from my archive- Equipment (sex toys and MF kink); The Girl Next Door (MF romantic lust fuelled bondage); Searching For Her (FF, MFF sex, kinky with BDSM)

Equipment

 

Blurb

To his lust driven delight, Lee Cooper’s opinion that his girlfriend simply doesn’t have the Equipment to take control in the bedroom is quickly and deliciously disproved. Meanwhile, Kim is sick of her gorgeous neighbour Jack bringing home a non-stop string of unsuitable women to screw, while completely failing to notice the girl right under his nose. Taking extreme measures, Kim sets out to prove she is more than just The Girl Next Door. Mark’s girlfriend is Searching For Her– the perfect woman to make her lover’s dreams come true. A quest which leads her into the path of more than one willing young lady… From BDSM action, to sex toy play, and the fun of threesomes, each of the couples in Equipment, gets far more than they bargained for…

The three stories within Equipment are all centred on the concept of making fantasies come true; sometimes by using sex toys, bondage or instruction- but always through the use of the characters plentiful erotic imagination and romantic lust…

In Equipment, local mechanic Lee, is given an unexpected lesson in the pleasures that can be found by concentrating on exploring the butt alone…

In The Girl Next Door, Kim is heartily sick of her friend and neighbour not recognising how good he could have it if he noticed her, and not the endless string of plastic blonde’s he brings home on a regular basis. The direct action she takes is steaming- and not just because the water in the shower is hot- you’ll see!!

In Searching For Her, one of the most popular M/F fantasies is explored. A woman is sent upon a mission by her lover to find them the perfect woman for them to share. She must report back to her partner on the results of her research again and again, until the right woman is finally found. Once a willing female has been located, the fun really begins…

***

I have so much fun writing erotica- especially when I add in additional elements, such as sex toys or a third partner. These ‘extras’ add to the dynamic of any relationship, whether it be new or established. The hit of a paddle may give huge pleasure to the recipient, and the wielder of the weapon, but to me as a writer it is the thoughts that go through the characters minds that really turn me on.

Here’s a tasty extract from the title story-

Equipmenthttp://kayjaybee.me.uk/ebooks/equipment-and-other-stories/

The moment I saw his naked arse, I knew that I wanted to fuck it, and I told him so. It was the first time I’d seen Lee Cooper unsure of himself. For a split second a veil of uncertainty, possibly even fear, had crossed his generally ultra-confident square features. It didn’t last though, and he was soon shrugging my statement off with a lad-ish laugh, ‘you ain’t got the equipment baby,’ as he eased his solid cock into my willing body.

I started working part-time at the garage, where Lee is employed as a mechanic, three months ago. The first thing he said to me, as his clear brown eyes appraised my slight frame and red plaited hair was, ‘I’m looking forward to pulling on those pigtails honey.’  From anybody else I wouldn’t have taken a comment like that, but somehow from Lee it was okay. He exuded a sort of sexual confidence, and the instant and silent knowledge that eventually we would fuck radiated from his every pore. It would have been foolish of me to deny that unspoken understanding, and I privately looked forward to the day I’d discover if the tattoos that adorned his muscular arms, extended to his chest and down his legs.

That was three flirtatious months ago, and it had been fun letting the erotic tension build between us, getting more intense as the weeks of inaction ticked by, but finally, Lee’s resolve had broken. He told me, as he hammered an impatient fist on my front door during his lunch hour, that he’d been changing the oil in a beat-up old motorcar, when he’d realised he couldn’t hold on another moment.

After the glorious frisson of the wait, there was always the risk that the reality wouldn’t live up to the expectation. I hadn’t been disappointed however, far from it.

I smiled to myself as Lee dragged his grubby boiler suit back on, and disappeared down my garden path at a run. His words echoed in my head, “You ain’t got the equipment baby.” A wicked twinkle began to shine in my eyes at the prospect of what lay ahead for the unsuspecting mechanic, and speaking across the empty room, I said, ‘Well actually Mr Lee Cooper, I have all the equipment we could possibly need…’

The thought of his tight arse, of claiming it as my own, of taking control of Lee for a while, and perhaps robbing him of a portion of his macho-attitude, grew within me, and I began to lay plans for the temporary domination of this alpha-male.

On Lee’s next visit, predictably the following lunchtime, I embarked on a mission to both enjoy myself, and to lull him into a false sense of security, neither mentioning how delicious I found his backside, nor my eventual intentions for it. As his calloused hands made their way over my naked chest, pinching my nipples with exquisitely painful squeezes, I groaned with genuine pleasure. Stroking the beautifully toned body that pushed against mine, I relished the sight of the tanned multi-tattooed chest I’d so recently discovered.

It was on Lee’s fourth visit that I kept my hands exclusively on his backside. Patting it gently, smoothing it, and caressing it, in a totally non-threatening way, as my new lover pumped himself swiftly in and out of me.

On the fifth visit Lee announced he’d had a dream about tying me up. His face, when I told him that he could do just that, was a picture. I’m not sure if he was more turned on by the fact he could do anything he liked to me, while my hands were secured behind my naked back, or by the feeling of power my helplessness gave him. I suspect the latter. As Lee’s warm tongue explored my stomach, and ducked skilfully between my spread legs, I wallowed submissively in the blissful feelings that engulfed me.

During visit number six, a rare after work encounter, while Lee was both fucking and smacking my arse with stingingly wonderful efficiency, the last few parts of my plan fell into place, and I knew that my need to take his firm neat backside was reaching the point of obsession.

sh toys

A little over two weeks after Lee had first turned up on my doorstep, I decided the time had come to act.  Laying out my sex toys in a neat row near my pillow, I hid them from view with my duvet. Removing the clutter of clothes from the battered old armchair I keep in the corner of my bedroom, I adjusted its position so that it was at the foot of the bed. Then I took off my regular jeans and t-shirt, and put on my tight black Lycra bodice and matching knickers. The caress of the clinging material against my flesh was enough to increase my pulse-rate, and boot-up the arousal I had been so carefully keeping in check.

Lee’s distinctive knock on the door came at almost exactly seven o’clock as we’d arranged. I smiled quietly to myself at his promptness and, wrapping myself in a black silk robe, descended the stairs to collect my unwitting victim…

Equipment and Other Stories is available from All Romance (House of Erotica) and all other good e-retailers, including-

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Equipment-Other-Stories-Group-Erotica-ebook/dp/B0096DL33A

http://www.amazon.com/Equipment-Other-Stories-Kay-Jaybee-ebook/dp/B0096DL33A/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1406036656&sr=1-1&keywords=Equipment+kay+jaybee

I also have another three story anthology available from the House of Erotica– so while you’re having a look at Equipment, why not check out Tied to the Kitchen Sink as well!

Tied to the Kitchen Sink

Happy reading,

Kay xx

 

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FREE READ: Quick Kink One- The Shirt

2 Comments
March 19  |  eBooks, News  |   Kay Jaybee

I thought I’d give you a little gift today to say thank you for dropping by- a free read!

A complete story from my Quick Kink One collection!

Enjoy…

qk1

The Shirt

I have a favourite shirt. It’s black, plain, and simply cut. The supple matt fabric clings flatteringly against my chest and stomach, without managing to make me look like I’ve been vacuum-packed into it. Its thin granddad collar leads down to a satin ribbon-edged v-neck, which reveals a hint of generous cleavage. Yet it, that shirt of mine, doesn’t make me look slutty or tarty, just, well… tempting. Or so I’m told.

Perched on the edge of my bed, I stare at my favoured garment, hooked over the bedroom door, waiting to be placed with its colleagues amongst the clutter of my ultra-stuffed wardrobe. I can’t help but smile as I recall the hands that have run over that shirt. Men’s hands, women’s hand, delicate hands and calloused hands; digits that have dared to trail around the neck-line, perhaps lingering over, or accidently straying onto, the flesh beneath.

Rather than shove it in with it’s fellow shirts, I have a sudden urge to hug the material to me, to feel the caress of its soft sheen against my skin. With a reverence which I usually only reserve for large bars of chocolate, I lift the shirt from its hanger and lye back on my Queen sized bed, holding it to my face. It smells of cleanliness and the washing powder I habitually use, but mostly it holds the scent of promise, the promise of getting dirty all over again.

Closing my eyes, sinking my head back into the plump pillows, I think of the last set of hands to travel across the inches of fabric that make up the distance from the black shirts neckline to its hemline. A short length, but, when time is taken, it can become a frustratingly long journey. A frustrating, arousing and deliciously tense journey. There are times however, when those who encounter my shirt are in no mood to take their time.

I can see him clearly. He is standing only inches from me, and the air between us positively tingles with electricity. I could never love him, the man who currently adores me in my favourite shirt, but that’s alright, because he could never love me either. Lust however, is in no short supply.

This is the black shirt that inspired this story...

This is the black shirt that inspired this story…

Shutting my eyes tighter, rubbing my shirt across my cheeks, my forehead and my eyelids, I begin to reminisce on the moment we first gave into the silent eroticism that seems to swim between us each time we chat over the counter of the little bookshop I own.    I clutch the fabric tighter as I think of his fingers, thicker than any I’ve encountered before, and yet somehow, for all that, incredibly dexterous.

That first time he followed me through from the shop floor to the small stock room behind, his hands were on the waist of my shirt before I’d even shut the door properly. As I look back, my pulse-rate increases, and behind my eyelids I see how, in his urgency, he threw me against the poorly painted grey wall. His palms, rough from manual labour, pushed my breasts, squeezing them so tightly through the material of my top that I squealed.

Continuing to trail that same freshly ironed shirt down my body, I can virtually feel his left arm wrap around me, hoisting me up. With my weight supported by the door, and my legs hooked around his waist, I’d gasped into his neck, as my companions right hand shot up my shirt, yanking my bra beneath my tits. Manhandling them, with a combination of exquisitely arousing nips and pinches, he treated my breasts as if he was kneading a couple of cottage loaves. I remember how he murmured into my ear then, telling me how I filled his night time fantasies, how badly he’d wanted to be alone with me, and how, when he pictured me, it was always in my gorgeous, low cut, beautiful black shirt.

Sitting up on my bed, I swiftly remove the red top I’m actually wearing, and pop open the bra which has become tight and uncomfortable at the thought of my lovers hot agile fingers. Picking the adored shirt back up, I stroke it across my hardening nipples, making myself moan softly into my recollections.

He dropped me then, so that he could take off his faded blue t-shirt. I stood, my pulse racing in shock at the intensity of the last few minutes of activity, my breath snagging in my throat at the sight of a smooth firm torso, that hadn’t been overworked, and yet spoke of strength and, somehow, confidence in its owners abilities. An unexpected Celtic cross tattoo sat centre stage on his chest, just beneath the neckline of his t-shirt. It intrigued me. I hadn’t known anyone with a tattoo before. Reaching out questioningly, I began to trace its outline. He’d laughed at me kindly, unable to understand my surprise at how it felt the same as the rest of his skin, amazed that I’d never touched one before.

I hadn’t been able to confine my exploration to his tattoo however, and soon I was passing my palms across his back, arms and legs in long sweeping moves, determined to discover every inch of his frame. I imagined I was a sculptor, running her hands over a finished masterpiece, searching for imperfections. I found none.

All the time I had been examining his upper body, my companion had been returning the favour. With my shirt now rucked up around my neck, and my bra disposed of, he’d had easy access to my chest, with which he was undeniably fascinated.

I pinched my own nipples as I lay against my duvet, recalling how I’d eyed his crotch. A wave of desire had enveloped me at the sight of the bulge straining beneath his filthy jeans.

Picking up on my silent message, he’d grabbed at the belt that kept my denims in place, and deftly kneeling, had bought my trousers to my ankles. The fast pace of our coupling then returned, and before I had time to register what was happening, I was crying with relief as the stale air of the stockroom brushed my newly naked pussy, quickly to be followed by a probing finger, and then, wonderfully, a hot wet tongue.

Experiencing the same twitch of longing between my legs as I do when I’m with him, my snatch rippled as I lay against my bed. I removed the remainder of my clothes, and dragged the shirt down from my chest to between my open legs. Wet patches dotted onto the black material as I massaged it across my clit. My mouth went dry as I remembered how he had attacked my cunt on that initial glorious meeting. Not gently, not slowly teasing me until I begged for more, but with a full on, fast, rough, bucket load of lips, laps, sucks and nips, that bought me shuddering to the quickest and most intense climax of my life.

A quiver ran down my shoulders and began to flutter at the base of my stomach as I thought on. Of how I’d pulled him to his feet the second I’d finished shaking; of how I’d copied his gesture with belt, trousers and underwear, and knelt before him. His cock, thick and deliciously stiff had tasted of salty sweat, of busy days and hard work. The aroma alone had made me want to come all over again as I engulfed his length, hungrily moving him up and down my throat with an urgency that rivalled his own.

Sexy - hands on back

Suddenly, I realised I’d been echoing those past moans into the silence of my bedroom. One hand caressing the fast staining shirt between my legs, I returned the other to my right breast, tweaking the nipple far harder than I would when normally stealing a few moments of solo pleasure. I reclosed my eyes.

The tell tale swelling of his dick, and the taste of pre-come droplets gathering on my tongue, had informed me that he was about to come in my mouth, but then he’d pulled away. I’d been temporarily disorientated, until he told me, a look of pure lust creasing onto his rugged features, that he wanted to finish inside me.

Quickly positioning my unresisting body onto all fours on the dusty storeroom floor, he came up behind me, and only waiting to grab a condom from his back pocket, rammed his cock unceremoniously inside me. I had heard of people who claim to have been rutted like an animal, but until then I’d thought them to be either exaggerators, or wishful thinkers. Not any more.

Discarding my now sodden black shirt to the floor, I dug my nails into my clit, making myself yelp with painful ecstasy as I reminisced over his wild pumping, his totally abandoned need to consume my body with his. I spasmed under my own sharp touch, and scratched at my breasts, wanting to experience the strangely urgent pain he’d sent through me as he announced, in what can only be called a guttural growl, that he was about to come. The second he spoke, he’d sent a loud smack across my prone arse with the flat of his palm, making me scream in both shock and delightful agony as a second orgasm soared through me. With a final pump, he’d shot a spray of hot spunk into my body, accompanied by a very male groan of satisfied relief.

Taking a deep breath to steady my thudding heartbeat, I let my hands fall away from my shaking body. Retrieving my favourite shirt, I smoothed it carefully out over the crumpled bedcover. Damp and creased, it seemed to sum up the encounter I’d just happily relived.

The bookstore lorry driver and I have had many similar meetings since that first intense encounter, all of which take the phrase ‘quickie’ to a new level. We know very little about each other really, but I know that he loves my black shirt almost as much as I do, and that his fingerprints will always be invisibly yet indelibly marked across its fabric forever, no matter how many times I wash it.

****

I hope that hit the spot! You can find The Shirt in Quick Kink One, and in my Xcite collection, The Best of Kay Jaybee!

Best of KJB

Buy links-

Quick Kink 1

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Quick-Kink-One-bite-sized-submission-ebook/dp/B008GU4372/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1418723015&sr=1-1&keywords=Quick+Kink+one

http://www.amazon.com/Quick-Kink-One-bite-sized-submission-ebook/dp/B008GU4372/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1418723162&sr=8-1&keywords=Quick+Kink+One+Kay+Jaybee

The Best of Kay Jaybee

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Best-Kay-Jaybee-ebook/dp/B009YYRM3Q/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1352239489&sr=1-2

http://www.amazon.com/Best-Kay-Jaybee-ebook/dp/B009YYRM3Q/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1352239753&sr=1-1&keywords=best+of+kay+jaybee

Happy reading,

Kay xx

 

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