Kay Jaybee

Everyone Needs A Bedtime Story

OUT NOW—Magnificent Manlove by Lucy Felthouse (@cw1985)

OUT NOW—Magnificent Manlove by Lucy Felthouse (@cw1985) #mm #gay #erotica #eroticromance

Blurb:

If you enjoy testosterone-filled tales of men getting it on, then check out this collection from the pen of award-winning author Lucy Felthouse.

From stranded soldiers to submissive virgins, sexy firemen and second chances to shifters, and even some unexpected ménage, this book has variety galore. There’s something for everyone, and will have you eager to turn just one more page.

Enjoy six steamy stories, over 46,000 words of magnificent manlove.

Please note: The stories in this anthology have been previously published.

Available from: http://books2read.com/magnificentmanlove

Excerpt:

Nathan closed his book with a very final slap and put it on the coffee table in front of him, then leaned back in his chair. Stretching languidly, he said, “Bloody good, that was. Though, admittedly, I thought it’d last me all week. Wasn’t expecting to get through it on day one.”

Raising an eyebrow, Lee shot Nathan an amused glance. “Not far off myself. Fucking storm. Stupid us, eh, going on holiday in the UK in summertime—not like you can guarantee the sodding weather, is it? Should’ve gone to the Canaries.”

“No, we can’t guarantee the weather, but…” Nathan gave the window a sidelong glance, “I do have some good news.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. The torrential downpour has stopped.”

“Seriously?” Lee slammed his own book closed and scurried over to the window. “Oh, wow, it’s cleared right up, and I can see a rainbow. Wanna head out? Just a little wander down to that pond we saw on the way here, maybe? Get some fresh air. We’ve got loads of daylight left, haven’t we?”

Nathan checked his watch. “Plenty. Especially if we’re only nipping to the pond. It’s probably only a fifteen-minute walk.”

“Fantastic. I was going a bit stir crazy in here. I’ll grab our coats and shoes.”

Lee had disappeared into the hallway of their rented holiday cottage before Nathan had the chance to reply. Shaking his head with a smile, Nathan collected their empty mugs from the coffee table and took them into the kitchen, then got a bottle of water from the fridge. He doubted they’d need a drink during their short trek along the road, but he could just shove the bottle in his coat pocket and forget about it. At least it’d be there if they wanted it.

When he returned to the living room, Lee was just about to tie up his laces.

“I got water,” Nathan said, brandishing the bottle.

“Cool. Shoes are there.” He nodded to the chair Nathan had been sitting in. Sure enough, his trail shoes were waiting on the floor in front of it.

“Thanks.”

Within a few minutes, they were headed out of the door. Nathan locked up, pocketed the key, then checked the handle. He doubted very much the place would get broken into—they were in the middle of nowhere, after all. There were farms nearby, but the closest village was about a mile and a half away. So any thieves would have to make a considerable effort to get to the cottage in the first place, never mind attempt to break into it. Rolling his eyes at his own paranoia, he turned and followed Lee, who’d already started ambling along the road in the direction of the pond.

After falling into step beside Lee, Nathan pulled in some deep breaths, enjoying the fresh air after being cooped up in the cottage. It was beautiful, and cosy, but it was supposed to be a base for them to go walking—somewhere for them to eat, sleep and shower, not to be stuck in for hours on end, staring at the walls. Or climbing them.

He admired the rainbow as they walked, its vivid colours painted across the watery sky. It seemed the clouds had literally exhausted themselves—only occasional wispy streaks of white now interrupted the never-ending blue. The sun beamed down, heating up the ground and beginning to evaporate the huge puddles. It would take some doing—one such puddle stretched across the width of the road, and they had to skirt around its edge to avoid getting wet feet.

Nathan smiled. Though the storm itself had been grim, the washed-out aftermath made everything feel fresh, clean somehow.

“You look thoughtful,” Lee said, breaking into his reverie. “A penny for them?”

“Mmm. It’s one of those things that sounds better in your head than said out loud.”

“Try me.”

Shrugging, Nathan replied, “Nothing major. Just admiring the rainbow, the sky, the clouds… thinking how everything looks so fresh and clean after a good storm. Like it’s been purified or something… Ugh, it’s stupid.”

Lee stopped and reached for Nathan’s hand. His green eyes were wide and filled with wonder. “No, it isn’t. Not at all—I was thinking something similar myself. It’s kinda romantic, isn’t it? Purification, rebirth, and all that.”

“In a roundabout way, maybe. I dunno.” He shrugged again.

Lee’s eyes narrowed, and his lips curved into a wicked grin. “We could make it romantic.”

“How so?”

“Come here and I’ll show you.” Still gripping Nathan’s hand, Lee tugged him close and moved in for a kiss. Nathan went into the embrace willingly, the smile on his face soon smothered by Lee’s hot lips.

*****

Author Bio:

Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of Cliterati.co.uk’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of), Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Café’s Best Ménage Book 2015 award), The Persecution of the Wolves, Hiding in Plain Sight, and The Heiress’s Harem and The Dreadnoughts series. Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 170 publications to her name. Find out more about her writing at http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk, or on Twitter or Facebook. Join her Facebook group for exclusive cover reveals, sneak peeks and more! Sign up for automatic updates on Amazon or BookBub. Subscribe to her newsletter here: http://www.subscribepage.com/lfnewsletter

Release blitz organised by Writer Marketing Services.

Making Him Wait is back soon!

After the sad closure of Sinful Press, my high-kink erotic novel, Making Him Wait, has been unavailable for a short while.

However- thanks to the fabulous Lucy Felthouse, it is now good to go as a self-published novel- and will be back out in the world (in paperback and as an ebook) from next Monday!

Blurb:

Erotica on a canvas of bondage and discipline!

Maddie Templeton has always been an unconventional artist. Themes of submission and domination pulse through her erotic artwork, and she’s happily explored these lustful themes both on and off the canvas.

But, when Theo Hunter enters her life, she is presented with a new challenge. Maddie sets out to test his resolve as she teases, torments and toys with him. But, as Maddie drives Theo to breaking point, she soon becomes unsure whether her own resolve will hold out!

At the same time, Maddie must put on the exhibition of a lifetime. As the hottest gallery in town clamours for her best work, Maddie pushes her models harder and higher until they are physically, sexually and emotionally exhausted. Will Maddie’s models continue to submit to her, or will she push them too far? And will she be ready for the exhibition in time?

The only way to find out is to wait and see…and the waiting only makes it sweeter!

Buy Now (pre-order – coming 22nd February 2021)

Amazon UK
Amazon US
Amazon AU
Amazon CA
Apple Books UK
Apple Books US
Barnes & Noble
Kobo
Smashwords 

This dark romance is full of twists and turns- and one hell of a lot of erotic action – artistically delivered…

Happy pre-ordering!

Kay xx

I Blame Chaucer

If it hadn’t been for Geoffrey Chaucer, then it is unlikely that we would connect the celebration of St Valentines Day with romance and love.

Brace yourself for a brief history lesson…

Chaucer

In 1382 Chaucer wrote the Parlement of Foules to honour the first anniversary of the engagement of King Richard II to Anne of Bohemia, when they were both only 15 years old. The poem contained the lines…

For this was on seynt Volantynys day, Whan euery bryd comyth there to chese his make.

[“For this was on St. Valentine’s Day, when every bird cometh there to choose his mate.”]

Prior to the publication  of Chaucer’s poem, Saint Valentine’s Day had been a religious celebration of a martyr (either Valentine of Rome or Valentine of Terni), and held no romantic links at all. However, writing at a time when romance and courtly love was at its most fashionable, Chaucer’s work quickly caught the public imagination.

Despite February being an unusual month for Chaucer to have written about birds mating, he wasn’t the only medieval author to have positioned such Spring-like antics so early in the year. Three other medieval authors centered their love poems on the allegory of birds mating in connection with St. Valentine’s Day around the same time; Otton de Grandson from Savoy, a knight called Pardo from Valencia, and the English poet John Gower.

Although it is unclear which of these other early Valentine poems came first, they were all widely read, and the connection between St Valentine’s Day on 14th February, and the joys of chivalrous romance strengthened and grew so much, that soon, the martyred saint himself was all but forgotten.

Courtly Love

By the Eighteen century in England, the 14th February had firmly evolved into an occasion when partners express their love for each other by presenting flowers, chocolates, and other gifts.

In the Nineteenth century, the sending of Valentines cards was so popular that they were becoming a mass produced item; especially in America and Europe, where the tradition continues to expand to this day.

I’m not entirely sure that Mr Chaucer would be that pleased with the manner of literature which I have to tempt you with as a Valentine’s treat…or maybe I’m wrong. He wasn’t exactly backwards at coming forwards with his saucy suggestions.  In The Wife of Bath, for example there are many thoughts on the sex- for example-

Telle me also, to what conclusioun
Were membres
maad of generacioun
And of so parfit wys a wright y-wroght?
Trusteth
right wel, they were nat maad for noght.”

OR- to clarify!!!

The argument above is that the genitals must serve some purpose. The Wife goes on to reject the idea that they are only made for urinating and distinguishing between males and females, saying her experience teaches her otherwise. Using the physical evidence apparent on the human body, as well as her own life experience, the Wife separates her argumentative strategy from the more abstract, learned type found in the books of “auctoritees,” or authorities. (Thanks to http://www.shmoop.com/the-wife-of-baths-prologue/sex-quotes.html for that!!)

So perhaps then, there won’t be too many medieval blushes, if I suggest that perhaps you’d like to secretly load your loved one’s Kindle with all manner of kinkiness while he or she isn’t looking….There’s nothing like mutual bedtime reading on Valentine’s Day!

Wednesday on Thursday

Happy Valentine’s weekend reading,

Kay xxx

Something for the weekend: A Kink A Day Book One

The time for some erotic reading indulgence has arrived.

This week, I’m easing you into the weekend with an extract from my sexy anthology, 

A Kink a Day- Book One

Blurb:

From the spank of a belt, to the unorthodox use of a dictionary; the bizarre obsession of an Egyptologist, to the afterhours indulgences of the staff recreating life in a strictly-run Victorian manor, A Kink a Day Book One provides a bite-sized moment of lust-fuelled distraction for each day of the week—with an additional erotic fantasy to enhance your Saturday morning lie-in.

***

Extract from Through the Gap

I caught my breath as Sally ran through the master bedroom’s door and, without taking time to explain, bundled me away from making the bed, into the dressing room cupboard and slammed the door. I stumbled back amongst the hat boxes and glove racks that filled the small, musty space. Scrambling to my feet, I pushed an eye up to the crack between the ill-fitting double doors, just in time to see both the housekeeper and the Master of the house follow Sally into the room.

There had been rumours, of course. The other members of staff frequently whispered amongst themselves of debauchery and submission, without realising they were being overheard. Six months of working in this house, of being neither seen nor heard as I discharged my duties, had made me an expert at overhearing things, and yet I had discovered nothing concrete to substantiate such gossip.
I suppose I have a rather strange job; it’s a bit like being an actor and a bit like being a domestic, but mostly I’m part of a complex tourist attraction. Each day, my colleagues and I dress in Victorian costume and work our way around a period manor house.

As a chamber maid, my place is in the bedrooms. I dart between all 25 chambers, making and unmaking beds which are never slept in, stoking naked fireplaces, dusting, sweeping and generally doing all those domestic chores associated with Victorian maids. I’m allowed to answer questions from the tourists, but otherwise I have to keep myself to myself, lower my eyes when my betters pass by, and try and remain invisible in their presence. I had dismissed the rumours of sexual deviancy as the product of boredom from some of our senior staff members’ lurid imaginations; fantasies concocted to liven up a slow tourism day. Until now.

Mrs Lawson grabbed Sally’s wrist and pulled her towards the Master. His face was solemn, and a stern furrow appeared on his brow as he peered into the eyes of the scullery maid. ‘Mrs Lawson informs me that you’ve been found wandering about above stairs again, young lady. That is not your place, is it?’
‘No, sir.’ Sally’s voice had taken on a meekness that was so convincing I wondered if it was genuine. I tried to quieten my breathing so I could hear what they were saying.

‘You know the punishment, don’t you?’

Sally nodded at the Master again and I watched as, on a signal from Mrs Lawson, Sally undid her apron and took off her cap and shoes. The housekeeper then leant forward and yanked off my colleague’s black working dress, so that she stood shivering in some far-from-Victorian underwear.

Mrs Lawson’s eyebrows rose. ‘And what exactly are those, young lady?’ her voice was harsh, but the high points of colour that had appeared on her face showed how much she was enjoying the situation as she observed Sally in her black stockings, matching bra and knickers.

Sally said nothing, but hung her head in humble submission, as the Master of the house placed a large hand on the back of her neck, gripping it firmly.
‘You have the collar, Mrs Lawson?’

‘Indeed, sir,’ the housekeeper produced a short black leather collar from her capacious apron pocket, and swiftly secured it around the maid’s pale neck. Then, rummaging further, she pulled out a thin lead and clipped it to the small silver loop that was positioned at the front of the collar.

My throat felt as if it had dried closed; I could hardly swallow as I watched, afraid of being discovered, but at the same time wishing the gap I was peering through was bigger, so I could see more.

I was unable to hear what the Master was saying now; he’d lowered his voice, almost to a whisper as he pulled on the lead which hung between her breasts. Then, in one swift, brutal movement, he grabbed the front of her bra and pulled it off, snapping the strap beyond repair. Her tits spilled out, revealing themselves to be even bigger than they’d first appeared. I moistened my lips. I could almost taste them and, enviously, I watched as the Master, yanking on the lead, bought Sally closer to him, before bowing down and engulfing a hard, nut brown nipple between his lips.

Sally had been a friend ever since I’d joined the house’s workforce, and unbeknownst to her, I’d had a massive crush on her from the first time I’d admired her in her pristine white apron and mop cap. To see her receive another’s erotic attentions was agony to my jealous body. I pressed my eye harder to the crack and strained my ears so I could hear the muted mewls my eyes told me were emanating from her lipstick-free mouth.

Mrs Lawson, who’d been watching the scene before her with obvious satisfaction, stepped forward and, once she had received approval from her superior, bent to Sally’s other breast. I could imagine so well how wonderful that would feel, the tingling attention, the sharp tang of want that each nip, each kiss, would send hurtling between her legs as both tits were stimulated at once.

I was aware of my own growing arousal. It had been simmering at the back of my mind ever since Sally had thrown me into the cupboard. Now it was controlling me, and I couldn’t help wondering if my friend had engineered things so I could observe her. A second’s panic shot through me, and I pulled away from the door. What if Sally told them I was here? What would they do to me if they found me? Then I sort of hoped they would find me. My breasts chaffed against my bra and stiffly starched uniform, as I wondered how I’d cope in Sally’s position.

My fantasy was cut short by a sharp scream, and I was drawn back to the real life drama in the adjoining room. The maid’s knickers had, in my few second’s lapse of concentration, been removed, and she was now on all fours. Mrs Lawson held a short white cane, which she had presumably kept in her apron pocket, and was rhythmically tanning Sally’s backside as the Master pulled the lead, making the girl walk after him like an obedient bitch on heat.

I was able to view them from every angle, as they moved in circles around the room, Sally yelping as the cane struck her neat backside. Our Master’s eyes blazed, his dick bulging beneath his suit trousers, while the housekeeper revelled in her administration of pain.

Without registering what I was doing, I slipped off my apron and slid a hand into my knickers as I watched. My juices stuck to my fingertips as I imagined Sally’s liquid dripping from her damp pussy. For despite her calls of anguish, the maid’s face glowed with desire, and there was no doubt in my mind that this scenario had been played out, and enjoyed, many times before….

If you want to find out what happened next you can buy A Kink a Day One from:

Amazon UK
Amazon US
Amazon AU
Amazon CA
Barnes & Noble
iBooks UK
iBooks US
Kobo
Smashwords

***

Happy reading,

Kay xx

 

 

 

 

 

Something for the Weekend: Knowing Her Place

This week, I’m sharing an extract from the third novel in my ‘The Perfect Submissive’ trilogy – Knowing Her Place.

Blurb:

Full of unanswered questions after her erotic fairytale experience at The Retreat in Scotland, Jess Sanders is desperate to return to her submissive position at the exclusive Fables Hotel in Oxfordshire.

Having been thwarted in his plans to keep Jess, The Retreat’s owner, David Proctor, isn’t willing to let her go without sending the so-called ‘perfect’ submissive on one final mission. Only if Jess succeeds in the task he sets her, will Proctor remove the collar of servitude he has locked around her neck.

With a list of five unfamiliar addresses to hand, Jess is placed in a car and driven away from The Retreat towards England. With no idea of what, or who, awaits her at each location, all Jess can hope for is that the journey will eventually take her back to where she belongs.

To the fifth floor of the Fables Hotel, where Miss 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…

****

Knowing Her Place follows on from The Fifth Floor and The Retreat.

Available from:

Amazon UK
Amazon US
Amazon AU
Amazon CA
Barnes & Noble
iBooks UK
iBooks US
Smashwords

Happy weekend reading,

Kay x

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