Everyone Needs A Bedtime Story

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Wednesday on Thursday: The Inspiration

As I continue to celebrate the first birthday of Wednesday on Thursday, I thought I’d talk a little about the inspiration behind the story.

Like all authors, I get my inspiration from everywhere and anywhere- and it doesn’t always wait patiently to be invited into my imagination. Often it rudely trespasses across my mind, shoving aside the plotlines I’m already working on, with the audacity to declare that it needs writing up right now!

The queue of ideas in my head from unexpected explosions of inspiration is incredibly long. As a consequence, it was over a year after I’d had the initial idea for Wednesday on Thursday before I had the chance to scribble down the initial plot outline. It was another six months after that when I had time to begin to write this story of words, sex and coffee.

And the initial inspiration… there was a man sat in the corner of my local coffee shop. He had a very particular sort of smile on his face as he bent over his newspaper, and espresso in one hand, and a pen in the other. I didn’t know him, but there was something about him that screamed out loud and clear that his mind was full of images that had nothing at all to do with the newspapers crossword he’d know started to do.

His expression, the strong smell of coffee and the partly completed crossword started something snowballing my imagination…words turn me on. Intelligence turns me on more…and a nice smile…well…I risked a covert glance at his eyes. Well- that was that- I had found the hero for Wednesday on Thursday. I still have no idea how I didn’t sit down and start writing the story there and then- must have been the novel deadline I had looming! I also have no idea how I kept my eyes off him for the rest of the morning…Okay…so maybe I didn’t!

Blurb

There are rumours that the coffee guy has “a thing” about words.

Shrugging off her friend’s concern about the way the man in the cafe stares at her every lunch hour, Wednesday can’t see how his love of words could possibly be hazardous.

The fact is, Wednesday rather enjoys being the centre of an attractive man’s undivided attention. His dark blue eyes alone have provided her with many delicious erotic fantasies, a welcome distraction from the pressures of the real world and a dull job.

It’s totally harmless…

…until there’s an accident with a cup of coffee.

After soaking Wednesday with a hot latte, the coffee guy’s attention suddenly becomes far more enticing—and dangerous.

Drawn into a bizarre world of human behavioural research, where crosswords are used to initiate sexual experiments, Wednesday finds herself driven, not by a desire to further scientific research, but by the need to be rewarded for her hard work by the coffee guy’s captivating research assistant.

A stunning redhead by the name of Thursday…

***

Here’s another little snippet from my sexy crossword, coffee, and threesome based novella…

Extract from Wednesday on Thursday

… Wednesday had selected her clothes with more care than usual. She told herself she was wearing her best underwear because it gave her more confidence. It was absolutely not because she’d spent a largely sleepless night dreaming of the coffee guy’s expression as he ran his shrewd gaze over her jet black satin bra with matching knickers.

With one extra button open on her shirt, Wednesday left her flat, raking her hand restlessly through her long chestnut hair. She kept telling herself that he was just a bloke who got off on the power of making her feel sexy. That was perfectly all right by her, because he clearly had no intention of doing anything beyond titillating her imagination.

Wednesday had experienced her fair share of relationships during her twenty-nine years, but no-one had ever managed to arouse her with a single glance before.

‘For goodness sake, woman, you don’t even know his name!’ Even though she kept trying to talk sense into herself, the four hours until lunchtime couldn’t pass fast enough.

By the time her break finally arrived, Wednesday thought her heart was going to thud right through her chest with nervous tension. Walking into the cafe, she was more than usually aware of the sound of her heels clattering across the wooden floor.

Wednesday forced herself not to look for him, to just queue up for her latte and toasted sandwich as she always did. Even though she managed to prevent herself from obviously surveying the busy room, she covertly hunted for him nonetheless.

He wasn’t there. A sensation of disappointment gripped her. She felt stupid; humiliated even. But only briefly.

There was an envelope on her regular table.

Sitting down with her food and drink, Wednesday gaped at the cream coloured envelope. Her name was written in clear script across its front.

Wednesday took a soothing sip of her drink as she wondered if the coffee guy was hidden nearby. She had an uneasy feeling that, if he was secretly observing her, he’d be getting off on watching her reactions. Struggling to steady her erratic breathing, Wednesday was more than a little aware that her tits were doing their best to burst through their satin holster.

Exhaling slowly, she opened the envelope.

The words had an instant impact on her internal temperature gauge. Wednesday’s body began to alternate between flushing with heat and shivering with cold, as if she was getting a fever and a chill at the same time.

 Dear Wednesday,

Forgive my rudeness for not having properly introduced myself before now.

My name is Lucas.

I will be blunt. I find you fascinating, and would like to make love to you. I would like to say my intentions are honourable, but they are not. They are lust-driven, and I feel it only fair you know that from the start.

If you are interested in knowing more, then please come to the address below once you have consumed your toasted sandwich. If you choose not to visit, then I will leave you in peace from this moment forward.

Whatever your decision, I would prevail upon you to keep this correspondence private.

Flat 1.

56 Chambers Way.

Regards,

L x

P.S. I apologise for the coffee incident. I trust I did not damage you. I will make the sincerity of my regret known to you should you decide to be my guest.

Wednesday didn’t finish her lunch.

Her legs had started taking her in the direction of Chambers Way without bothering to ask the rest of her if it was a good idea or not.

She knew the address.

The building, a private block of flats, was only two hundred metres from the office block where Wednesday had been employed as an administration clerk for the past two years.

Knowing she’d never forgive herself if she didn’t find out what was within Flat 1, with her pulse racing, Wednesday hovered outside a dark green front door.

A door that led to Lucas and whatever he planned to do by way of an apology.

Without allowing herself to think about what she was doing, Wednesday knocked twice…

***

Buy Links

UK- https://www.amazon.co.uk/Wednesday-Thursday-Kay-Jaybee-ebook/dp/B01N5SOMT0/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1485329803&sr=8-1&keywords=Wednesday+on+Thursday+Kay+Jaybee

USA- https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N5SOMT0?ref_=pe_2427780_160035660

Canada- https://www.amazon.ca/Wednesday-Thursday-Kay-Jaybee-ebook/dp/B01N5SOMT0

Happy reading!

Kay xx

Happy 1st Birthday Wednesday

This month sees the first birthday of my ultra kinky psychological, word loving, coffee sipping, threesome filled, sexual behaviour research experimenting novella, Wednesday on Thursday

Wednesday on Thursday

Blurb

There are rumours that the coffee guy has “a thing” about words.

Shrugging off her friend’s concern about the way the man in the cafe stares at her every lunch hour, Wednesday can’t see how his love of words could possibly be hazardous.

The fact is, Wednesday rather enjoys being the centre of an attractive man’s undivided attention. His dark blue eyes alone have provided her with many delicious erotic fantasies, a welcome distraction from the pressures of the real world and a dull job.

It’s totally harmless…

…until there’s an accident with a cup of coffee.

After soaking Wednesday with a hot latte, the coffee guy’s attention suddenly becomes far more enticing—and dangerous.

Drawn into a bizarre world of human behavioural research, where crosswords are used to initiate sexual experiments, Wednesday finds herself driven, not by a desire to further scientific research, but by the need to be rewarded for her hard work by the coffee guy’s captivating research assistant.

A stunning redhead by the name of Thursday…

***

I had so much fun writing Wednesday’s story. I had her adventure in my mind a long time before I had the chance to actually sit down and write it. Such has been the lovely feedback from my readers, that I intend to do a sequel- ‘Thursday on Friday.’ By the time I’ve finished I hope to have covered the whole week…

To help celebrate Wednesday’s birthday, I’m sharing Chapter One…

Wednesday on Thursday

Chapter One

His hands moved so fast that Wednesday didn’t register what was happening until her top was by her ankles. A large palm  came to her neck. She was pinned to the spot, and her bra was tugged down until it lodged beneath her breasts. Then a pair of masculine lips greeted her right nipple.

A delicious wave of climatic shock spun her head with images of what the man with the dark blue eyes might do once he tired of feasting on her chest. Of what it would be like to experience his agile tongue lapping at her pussy, over her butt, around her…

‘Wednesday!’

Snapping out of her recurring fantasy, Wednesday Taylor blushed. ‘Sorry, Carol. I was thinking.’

‘Again?’ Carol smiled. ‘Come on, who is it that’s captured your imagination and lured it away from the paradise of data input? Every time I look at you you’re miles away.’

‘No one. I was planning a holiday.’

‘If you expect me to believe that, then you must think me blind as well as stupid.’ Perching on the edge of Wednesday’s desk, Carol shoved a pile of papers to one side. ‘It’s that guy from the café, isn’t it?’

‘Which guy?’ Wednesday deliberately kept her eyes on her screen.

‘Come off it, Nez. The one who can’t take his eyes off you. Until you take a quick look at him, that is. Then he studies his espresso cup with an expression that suggests he’s trying to work out its molecular structure.’

‘The man to whom you are referring sits in a corner.’ Wednesday flapped away the suggestion with a wave of her hand. ‘He is automatically observing everyone because his seat oversees the entire cafe. I really was contemplating the advantages of Portugal over Spain.’

Carol rolled her eyes and sighed. ‘If you say so, but be careful.’

‘Use a high factor sun screen on the beach, you mean?’

Getting to her feet, Carol seemed to give up on her pursuit of gossip. ‘Seriously, there are rumours about that bloke. He makes me uneasy.’

Winking playfully, Wednesday said, ‘Rumours? Do tell.’

‘I’m serious! Apparently he has this “thing” for words.’

Putting inverted commas around the word “thing” with her hands as she replied, Wednesday laughed, ‘A “thing” for words. Now that is scary. If you’d said he had a “thing” for sharp blades, I’d have been worried.’

‘I’m serious. It’s weird. He doesn’t just watch the women that appeal to him; he sort of visually dissects them. It’s like he’s hunting for something. Or someone.’

Waiting until Carol had returned to her work, Wednesday opened the top drawer of her desk and stared at the napkin she’d slipped in there an hour ago.

That lunchtime, as usual, Wednesday had been trying not to make it obvious that she was watching the coffee guy as he was watching her, when he’d surprised her by a break in his routine. He had got up to leave the cafe exactly two minutes earlier than usual.

As he passed her table en route to the exit he’d almost brushed her shoulder, but not quite. After dropping a napkin lightly onto her lap without uttering a word of explanation, he’d walked out of the door and disappeared into the afternoon.

Back in the safety of her office, regarding the folded serviette as if it were an unexploded bomb, Wednesday felt her palms prickle with perspiration. By comparison, her throat had gone Sahara dry. Even though he hadn’t looked at her as he’d passed by, Wednesday had the strangest sensation that his inkwell eyes saw straight into her soul. That somehow the coffee guy knew what her late night dreams were about.

And who they featured.

Checking to make sure that Carol wasn’t watching her, Wednesday unfolded the note and read the neat looped writing.

I would very much like to see you, Wednesday, on Thursday. I need to check you weren’t burnt.  Regards.

Thursday? That’s tomorrow. But when tomorrow? Did he mean he wanted to apologise for spilling the coffee? If so, why hadn’t he said so before? The accident was days ago. And what did he mean by I need to check?

Wednesday pictured the coffee guy steering her into the nearest secluded area of town, trapping her between a wall and his six foot frame, ripping open her shirt, passing his eyes over her pale flesh to check for burn marks…

A sudden tightening of her chest made Wednesday drop the note and slam her desk drawer shut. If she carried on like this, not only would she fail to get anything done, but she’d be sat in damp panties for the rest of the workday.

Again…

***

Buy Links

Happy reading!

Kay x

Exciting Times: 2018

I have so much planned for 2018 that I hardly know where to start!

I’ll forgo the look back over 2017 as -to be honest- it wasn’t the best year. Instead, let’s look forward to the year ahead. A year which is already looking jam packed!

As you’ll know if you follow this blog, the first part of my “The Perfect Submissive Trilogy” – The Fifth Floor- was re-released last month.

Hot on its heels will be the re-release of Book Two- The Retreat. This is currently available on the reading app, Radish. In a few months time however, it will be available as both an eBook and as a paperback- as will Book 3- Knowing Her Place.

Not only that, but my bestselling novel, Making Him Wait, has found a brand new home….more details on that as soon as I’m allowed to tell you!

My Jenny Kane side (contemporary women’s fiction) and my Jennifer Ash side (medieval crime) are also both very very busy teaching writing workshops and giving author talks across the South West of England.

Despite having all that to do- after a while out of the erotica writing arena- I’m working on a brand new series of books. More about that soon!

Also- my Kink a Day series (currently on Radish)- will be available as eBooks asap.

I think you could say, that I’ve got my mojo back!

Happy New Year everyone,

Kay xx

 

 

 

Donning That Little Red Dress

Up and down the country- whichever country that may be- men and women are laying down their laptops, putting aside their PC’s, closing their diaries, and switching on the answer machines so that they can head out on their ‘Work Christmas Do!’

As a self employed writer, if I went on a ‘Work Christmas Do’ all that would usually happen, would be that I’d have a gingerbread muffin alongside my usual cup of coffee. (Although my Jenny side did actually get two work Christmas meals this year!!)

Costa ginger muffin

However, this does not stop me imagining what it might be like to go to a Christmas dinner and dance- a.k.a the office party! The men pulling on a suit and worrying about just how ‘festive’ their tie should be. The women stare at the contents of their wardrobes for hours as they suddenly hate the outfit they’d got especially for the occasion, and desperately need to pick something else – or is that the sort of thing that only happens to me?

wardrobe

Anyway! The idea of the little black dress as the central point for an erotic story has always attracted me – and then I thought, maybe not black- why not bright red… Once the idea took hold, I just had to write a story called, The Little Red Dress. Here’s an extract for you…

“…Deaf to Alice’s continued protests, Rachel had marched her friend by the elbow from the office to the only store still open. A single rack of party dresses remained left in stock.

Overriding Alice’s claim that the only one left available in her size would make her look like a hooker, with a blunt, ‘For heaven’s sake Alice, you’re thirty-one, not sixty-one! You have a great body—time to show it off a bit.’ Rachel picked up the dress and pushed Alice towards the checkout.

Without being allowed to try the startling scarlet dress on, Alice had found herself with a posh carrier bag in her hand, the cautious owner of a garment that was fashioned from about as much material as an oversized T-shirt.

Now, with her eyes still closed, Alice smoothed the red fabric into place. It clung to her body sensually with a curious warmth that caressed her everywhere it touched. Conversely, it also made her feel very naked everywhere it didn’t touch.

Its thin shoulder straps were pointless. They certainly weren’t required to hold the dress up. It was far too tight-fitting for that. Alice’s cleavage, which had always been generous, felt oddly cold and incredibly visible, although the dress supported her bra-free breasts as if by magic.

The hemline only just reached the top of her thighs, and there was no way on earth she could wear either tights or stockings without them ruining the line of the dress, or being disturbingly, if not suggestively, obvious. Alice tried to close her mind to the fact that she had to go commando. She really didn’t want to think about that—yet her mind couldn’t stop thinking about it. She had never felt so unbelievably sexy in her life—and she hadn’t even seen herself in the mirror yet.

With a deep breath, trying to ignore the nerves of anxiety that swam in her stomach, Alice opened her eyes.

She gasped. That wasn’t really her—was it?

Her legs seemed longer and slimmer than she remembered. Although Alice had to admit that she didn’t actually look at them, or any part of her body, with any level of concentration unless she absolutely had to. Now she had no choice. She was all legs and bust.

Conscious of every inch of her body, Alice sucked her stomach in and gripped the hem of the dress, tugging it south. But the cost of covering an inch more leg was at the expense of exposing a greater depth of cleavage to the point where her nipples only just remained covered.

The thought that she was going out in public with the twin peril of either bending over and exposing her arse, or self-consciously fidgeting in her unaccustomed outfit and flashing her breasts to the world, filled Alice with an excitement and trepidation that prickled at her pussy, and made the skin of her neck behind her long chestnut hair dot with a perspiration which had nothing to do with being too hot. What are you thinking? You can’t go out like this! The voice of reason at the back of Alice’s head shouted at her reflection.

Alice glanced at her wristwatch. Rachel would arrive to collect her at any moment.

Briefly, she contemplated pretending that she was ill, or simply ignoring the ring of the doorbell when it came, but a new voice—a louder, more determined voice—began to sound in her mind. It was shouting at her. You look good. Sexy, even. Why not show those perfect people at work that you aren’t the boring plain old Alice they think you are? Why not do what Rachel says and show Gary what an idiot he was? Why not—just this once?

Alice had the strangest feeling her dress was talking to her.

Slipping the silver glitter-covered high heels she’d borrowed from Rachel onto her feet, Alice pushed her shoulders back and her chest out. Perhaps tonight she could get through the chuckled comments her work colleagues were bound to make about how they’d found the boss’s son last year, by pretending to be someone else entirely. Someone who always wore little red dresses…”

****

Christmas Kink

If you want to find out what happened to Alice in her new red dress at her office Christmas party, then you can find the rest of that story- and 5 others, in my Christmas Kink anthology.

 

***

Happy reading,

Kay xx

Christmas Courier: Wrapped

One of my favourite of the many Christmas scenes I’ve written appears in my sexy novella, Not Her Type: Erotica Adventures with a Delivery Man.

I thought I’d share a little of it with you today…

christmas presents

The knock at her door made her jump, and Jenny physically had to restrain herself from running to see who the caller was. So what if it’s one o’clock? It’s Christmas Eve, he isn’t working, and he won’t come. It’ll be my next door neighbor with some mince pies or something. Her pulse thudded violently in her chest as Jenny moved to the door, convinced that the hope she couldn’t prevent from rising in her chest was about to leave her disappointed.

The silhouette through the glass panel in her front door was unmistakeable.

“I was just passing.” The shine in John’s deep brown eyes told her this was a blatant lie.

A wide smile crossed her face as Jenny let him in, “I thought you might be away for Christmas or something.”

“I thought you might be too.”

A feeling of awkwardness came over Jenny. Despite everything they had done together, there was nevertheless so much they didn’t know about each other. She felt almost shy as she spoke, “I was going to text, but I didn’t want to get in the way of your life or anything.”

“Same here. I thought you might be with family.” A large, rough hand raked through the back of her hair, easing out the knots, sending little currents of craving down Jenny’s neck and into her chest. Then, slipping a hand into hers, John steered Jenny toward the living room, swiftly banishing any uncertainty.

Gesturing to the middle of the floor, he said, “Last minute wrapping?”

“A few bits for the neighbour’s kids.” She could feel her pulse accelerating as he looked at her, “My family all live abroad, it’s just me in the UK.”

“That’s a big roll of paper for those little gifts.”

She wasn’t sure if it was the way he spoke or the look on his face that gave him away, but Jenny knew what was going to happen before he moved. In seconds, John had stripped her naked, and Jenny was being enveloped in large swathes of jolly, silver-star covered gift-wrap.

“Don’t move, and don’t speak, okay?”

Nodding, she tried not to laugh as John wrestled with the dispenser, before he cut off length after length of sticky tape, which he used to secure the paper tighter and tighter around her. Jenny’s arms became pinned to her sides, and her legs were clamped together as if she was some sort of bizarrely festive Egyptian mummy.

Stepping back to admire his work, John’s face creased with hunger, and Jenny’s urge to giggle dissolved. She could feel her breasts chafing against the smooth, figure hugging covering, and suddenly she realized how desperately she wanted them to be free so that John could hold them, suck them, hit them…do whatever he wanted with them.

John began hunting around the room for something. Jenny however, could only wonder how long it would be before she could suck his shaft, or feel him slide between her legs. She wanted to speak, to ask him to kiss her, but she’d promised not to talk, and didn’t want to distract him from whatever he was going to do next.

He stood so close to Jenny that his dark eyes tunnelled into hers. He peeled his clothes off at a speed that made the lightning disposal of Jenny’s garments seem positively drawn out.

Attempting to distract herself from the need to speak, Jenny traced her eyes over the line of his chest, the hairs so soft and inviting, his tattoos just begging for fresh examination, and his cock, hard and firm, pointed at Jenny accusingly, as if making its owner as horny as hell was a crime.

Shuffling her feet unsteadily on the carpet, she watched as he began to unwind the satin purple ribbon she’d spent ages draping around her Christmas tree. Her throat turned the texture of sandpaper as she comprehended the meaning behind the devious expression in John’s eyes. He brought the two-meter garland toward her.

Naked and emanating power, John began to wind the ribbon around her neck in a large bow. Picking up a pair of scissors from the floor, he cut off the remaining strip of fabric, “I started thinking about doing this last night. I even have some rolls of gift-wrap in the van. I couldn’t believe my luck when I saw this lot waiting for me.”

Wide eyed, Jenny saw her film courier twist part of the ribbon around his arm, before approaching her. Again, she guessed what he was about to do, and she tensed as the first bind of the silky material went over her eyes and around the back of her neck, trapping her hair.

Mewling into the purple darkness, and deprived of the sight of his gorgeous body, Jenny felt John’s fingers fiddling with the knot behind her head. Then his hands came to her elbows. “You look incredible. Are you okay?”

She nodded awkwardly; glad he was holding her, afraid she would topple over at any moment.

“Good girl. You remembered not to talk,” John’s breath tickled her neck as he said, “You are, without doubt, the most tempting Christmas present I’ve ever seen.”

As he spoke, her breasts, already swollen with their need to be touched, became taut and hot, and pussy juice began to leak along her inner thighs.

The pressure of his palm as he pushed it against her wrapped-up mound made Jenny stagger so much that John had to steady her with this free arm. Moaning as his fingers encased and probed her enclosed clit, Jenny’s liquid flowed freer, soaking the paper, turning the crackling sound it had initially made into a wet, squelchy rustle.

“What a hot, little bad girl you are.”

Jenny felt the layers of wrapping paper between her legs start to mulch as John kneaded and pinched her flesh. Then, with a grunt of frustration, he lifted her off her feet and laid her on the floor. An urgent hand came to her right breast, kneading her tit, creasing and crumpling the gift-wrap.

Abruptly John stopped, his weight lifted from her, and a sense of bereavement consumed her body. She had no idea how she managed not to plead for more.

The purple ribbon over her eyes became darker, and Jenny realized he must have turned the lights off. Then the chirpy Christmas tunes that had been playing in the background disappeared as the radio was clicked off. Silence filled the room. Uncertainty crept through Jenny’s mind, and a drizzle of perspiration trickled between the packaging and the back of her neck. Her ears strained to pick up a sound, but she couldn’t hear anything, not even her man’s breathing.

Time seemed to pass slowly as Jenny lay like a fallen statue, painfully aware of the friction of the saturated paper as it clung to her pussy. Every part of her body ached for a continuation of the attention it had been receiving. The ribbon against her eyes felt tighter than ever, but Jenny began to wish it was between her teeth, gagging as well as blinding her, for there was no way she could stay quiet for much longer. Clamping her jaw, Jenny was determined not to break the rules, but the more she thought, the more her resolve began to crack.

“John?”…

****

Well, I’d better let you go now- you are probably in a hurry to go and buy a few rolls of extra long gift wrap…

If you’d like to read about Jenny and John’s courier kink, or see what happened next on Christmas Eve, then you can buy Not Her Type: Erotic Adventures With A Delivery Man from-

Amazon UK-  http://www.amazon.co.uk/Not-Her-Type-Adventures-Delivery/dp/1484881184 

Amazon.com- http://www.amazon.com/Not-Her-Type-Adventures-Delivery/dp/1484881184

****

Many Christmas and happy reading!

Kay xx

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