Kay Jaybee

Everyone Needs A Bedtime Story

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Something for the weekend: Wednesday on Thursday

While I’m away teaching a smutty writing workshop at Eroticon in London, I thought I’d leave you with the prologue from my sexy MFF menage novella, 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 café 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…

***

Prologue

Sat at her usual table, stirring a spoonful of sugar into her latte, Wednesday began her daily cycle of speculation. Who was he? Did he come into the cafe at other times and fixate on other customers? What was going through his mind while he observed her so intently? Why didn’t it bother her?

Most men noticed Wednesday’s chest first; some opted for checking out her arse. A rare few went further with their assessment, and engaged her in conversation before they tried their luck.

But not this man; the one she referred to as the coffee guy.

With a double shot espresso in his hand, the first time he’d set eyes on Wednesday, the coffee guy had started with an unashamed assessment of her chest, then, over a period of several weeks, studied her from the top of her head to the toes of her shoes.

Instinct told Wednesday to avoid the coffee guy at all costs. The way he examined her with his enquiring midnight blue eyes was so unsettling. And yet…

Whenever Wednesday walked into the cafe she frequented during her lunch break, the coffee guy would be there. From the moment she took her first step through the door, his focus would shift from his drink to the queue of customers, where it would become fixed upon her.

She thought she’d imagined it at first, but as time had gone by, Wednesday had become increasingly convinced it really was her he was watching.

It had crossed her mind that maybe she should be scared, that this man could be some sort of voyeuristic stalker. But Wednesday didn’t feel threatened; just intrigued and aroused, although she wasn’t sure why.

Only once had he spoken to her.

A swapped lunch break with her friend Carol had placed Wednesday behind the coffee guy in the queue.

Her coffee had already been in her hand when he’d stepped back and accidentally knocked into her, spilling the beverage down her front in a breathtaking cascade of wet heat.

Wednesday had watched helplessly as the liquid seeped through her black shirt, ran down her purple pencil skirt, and travelled on an unstoppable route into her boots.

Too stunned to talk, she’d tugged the wet material of her shirt outwards, not caring that she might be giving the world a generous view of her cleavage.

‘Wednesday, are you okay?’ The barista behind the counter had rushed to her side, pushing a wad of paper napkins into her hands. ‘You can use the staffroom if you like. There are spare T-shirts in there. Help yourself.’

Feeling like an unwilling contestant in a wet T-shirt competition, Wednesday had rushed towards the door marked Staff Only.

It was only once she’d walked into the staffroom that she realised the man who’d caused the accident had followed her.

‘Your name is Wednesday?’

‘Yes.’

‘I find that rather pleasing.’

Then, without a word of apology for ruining her clothes and potentially scalding her, the coffee guy had disappeared.

All Wednesday had been left with was the lingering blaze of his navy blue eyes, which had heated her flesh just as much as the spilt drink…

 

 

Buy Links

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

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

***

Something for the Weekend: Digging Deep

It’s been so cold lately, that I thought this weekend I’d take you on an erotic adventure into the sunshine. Tunisian sunshine to be exact – with an entire chapter from my erotic romance, Digging Deep

Chapter One

Irritably adjusting her wide-brimmed hat for the third time in as many minutes, Dr Beth Andrews felt the sting of the African sun sear the back of her neck through the tresses of her long, ginger hair.

She never dreamt she’d miss the stubborn, muddy clay of the British earth she was used to hunting through in her search for archaeological data, but the uncooperatively fine white sand of North Africa was enough to try the patience of a saint.

Throwing down her brush in overheated exasperation, Beth thought fondly of her excavation trowel. Her tool of choice had quickly been rendered obsolete in the face of so much sand, and a job that was, by necessity, slow was reduced to a snail’s pace as the metre by metre square of the Ancient Roman bath house site in which she worked backfilled in on itself with every sweep of her light bristled brush.

It had been a dream come true for Beth when she’d been selected to lead the University of Wales’s excavation team, digging the sprawling Ancient Roman city of Lepti Major on the outskirts of Sousse in Tunisia. She had longed to experience new exotic sites and see new exotic sights. The chance to uncover stunning mosaics and city roads that hadn’t been trodden for 1000 years was an opportunity she’d had no intention of letting pass by.

olive groves

The fact she’d be sharing responsibility for the site with her archaeological hero, the unimaginatively named Dr Harrison Harris from Colorado, an American academic who’d been the subject of many of Beth’s private fantasies since she’d fallen in love with his work, not to mention the photograph of him on the back cover of his books, in her first year as a student, was neither here nor there.

Flicking her eyes covertly over towards Harrison, Beth averted her attention away from the slight increase in her pulse rate by recalling what the site’s previous supervisor had said about working in Africa’s extreme temperatures. “Scalding by day, and freezing by night”. Linda had warned Beth that her freckle-spotted, sensitive flesh would loathe being either fried or frozen just as much as her archaeological brain would relish the challenge of constructing a city from its remains.

Beth hated the fact that Linda had been right. She’d never been rendered so sweaty, not to mention so blotched with extra heat-induced freckles, in her life. There couldn’t have been a centimetre of her body that hadn’t got a fresh cluster of beige dots on it. After only a week under the sun, it was becoming a struggle to hold on to her generally calm approach to life, and Beth was finding that her temper, which rarely flared in the UK, was on a permanently short fuse.

What got to her most was that none of her colleagues seemed to be suffering at all. They were all happily tanning as they worked, and sleeping off their exhaustion with ease at night.

It hadn’t taken Beth more than a few hours of digging in the unshaded bath house on her first day to see that a survival technique was required to prevent the elements disrupting her professional judgement. She tried thinking about work, home, rain, and even walks in the snow as she worked, but only one thing successfully diverted her attention from the exposure of her unusually pale flesh to the elements, and that was to allow her mind to fill with erotic scenarios and fantasies, while her hands got on with the job in hand.

This specialised amusement had the benefit of taking her mind off the sun that managed to scald her back even through three layers of thin cotton, and had the added bonus of warming her at night. Lying on her thin camping mattress, Beth would recall all she’d pondered during the day, engendering an ardour between her thighs that her fingers deftly maximised, leaving her physically warmer and bodily sated, and thus making it easier for her to fall asleep.

At first, Beth had been determined that Harrison would not feature in her erotic musings. Her resolve had not lasted long, however, and although she did her best to make the men in her sexy survival scenarios anonymous, the American’s face crept in with increasing frequency.

Manoeuvring a layer of burning sand from one side of her section to the other, Beth considered her colleague. His reputation as an expert in Roman archaeology was renowned. Beth had never dreamt she’d ever meet him, let alone work with him as an equal. His knowledge and academic intellect had been enough to make her heart flutter for years. Yet what Harrison was like in reality was not at all how she’d assumed he’d be.

She’d envisaged him as being chatty, tall, slim, dark-haired, and weather-tanned. He’d probably wear glasses for reading, and be forever clad in T-shirts and large-pocketed shorts as he leapt around excavations like a gazelle.

In fact, she’d hardly heard Harrison’s distinct Colorado accent. He seemed to prefer his own company to that of the group. When he did talk to Beth, he called her “doll,” which made her feel like a lump of mass-produced, animated plastic.

Harrison was about 5 foot 7, not the 6 foot plus she’d pictured, and his spiked hair was a sun-kissed blond and not brown. His build was stocky and muscular, his bare arms and legs permanently gritted with granules of sand, and although he moved with a speed which would have been the envy of any gazelle, he managed to proceed around the site somehow without making a sound.

The problem is, Beth thought as she traced the outline of what she suspected might be a Roman drain gully, I built up an image of him based on a book cover’s black-and-white out of date headshot, and I was way off.

archaeology in sand

She’d been right about Harrison wearing knee-length shorts, though. Everyone on the dig wore such shorts, except for the stick thin, heavy-chested blonde on the American team, who might as well have been wearing knickers her shorts were so scanty. Beth sighed as she looked down at her own attire. A protective covering of baggy clothing shrouded her limbs, and her porcelain neck was hidden beneath spirals of her ginger hair, which glowed as if she’d been hit by radiation rather than African sunlight.

Ryan wasn’t helping either. The most charismatic of her students had been so enthusiastic on his first morning that he’d headed to the site before everybody else, without waiting for Beth to detail where to dig. Consequently, he’d powered through the ground in an alarmingly gung-ho manner, neglected the recording of each strata-graphic layer and, with his six-pack and biceps shining against 120 degrees of sunshine, had crashed his shovel into the corner of a mosaic that had been safely protected by the landscape for hundreds of years, breaking off half-a-dozen exquisitely coloured tessera cubes, and rendering one of the depicted Medusa’s snakes partially headless.

Beth had gone ballistic. To his credit, Ryan had been mortified. He’d begged her not to tell anyone. For the sake of the university’s reputation, not to mention her fear that Harrison would take one look at her careless student, assume she was no good at supervision, and send her home, she had agreed it would be their secret. Ever since, however, Ryan had been driving Beth mad with his attempts to make it up to her at every opportunity.

Only that morning he’d lent so close to Beth as he informed her he was going to make up for his blunder that his soft Welsh tones had vibrated against her skin. His manner was so blatantly suggestive that she hadn’t been able to prevent the inappropriate smile that had very briefly crossed her lips.

Picking up her dustpan and brush, Beth stroked away the grains of sand that sat between her and her judgement as to whether the lines being revealed were part of the bath house drainage system or not. Expertly tracing the changing colours in the freshly uncovered ground, Beth, confident that her theory was correct, and that the ancient shadows of the gully she could see could be followed across the ground with ease, readopted her technique to deviate her attention from the cruel climate, while her fingers worked the earth.

What exactly is Ryan offering? she wondered. A sneaky snog behind the equipment cupboard? A cooling down of my chest with his tongue? Or is he more ambitious than that? Does he imagine me naked, face down, spread-eagled over an empty wheelbarrow with his cock between my legs; or see us together in the shower, washing off the worst of the sand that seems to be permanently stuck to my body while he shoves his dick down my throat?

For goodness’ sake, woman! she chided herself. Beth was surprised to find her chest, whose generous size she’d always loved before, but now heartily wished was small enough to go without the extra layer of material her bra provided, was becoming taut. Cross with herself, she shook her hair out from beneath her hat, as if trying to dislodge the thoughts from her head. Having random erotic dreams might be the only thing that keeps you sane in this blast furnace – but you must not consider your students! Get a grip!

Briskly returning to the matter in hand, Beth cut through a layer of denser sand, wishing Ryan wasn’t working the section directly behind her. She daren’t turn to check he was all right like she did her other students. The last time she’d done so, she had caught him ogling her butt with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows, which couldn’t have been mistaken for anything other than the type of lustful intentions her own imagination had just so colourfully displayed to her. Ever since then, she had been more than a little self-conscious of the stretch of her cotton combats over her backside.

Crouching on her haunches, letting her eyes roam across the site as a whole, Beth struck Ryan from her mind, and began weighing up the significance of what she was excavating in relation to what else was opening up on the dig before her. As she leant in closer, a glitter of something just below the upper level of the sand caught her eye. Trailing her brush across the yellow surface, she mentally listed all the hidden things that might shine: mosaic tesserae, jewellery, votive offerings to the gods …

With a sharp scream, Beth stumbled backwards out of her square in a mad scramble to escape. Her find was none of the things archaeologists dream of uncovering. In the haste to get away, her left foot caught on the guide string that divided her metre section from the next. Tripping, she fell heavily backwards.

Flushed with an embarrassment that enflamed her already pinkened features, Beth found herself being scooped onto Ryan’s lap, his arms wrapped protectively around her.

Alerted by the unexpected shriek, the other students in the immediate vicinity began to gather round. Most of them, however, backed away the moment they saw what had caused Beth’s unusual lack of professionalism; except for the leggy American, who looked at Ryan in disgust, pointedly rolled her eyes at Beth, and returned to her work.

Beth didn’t have time to think about the blonde’s unsympathetic reaction. All her attention was on the bronze snake which hadn’t appreciated its home being disturbed by an inquisitive human. She was convinced it was staring straight at her, its tongue flicking, smelling the air around it in an accusatory manner.

Her initial shock subsiding, and abruptly sensible of where she was, and how it must appear to see one of the supervisors in the embrace of a student, Beth scrambled shakily to her feet. She wasn’t sure if she was more mortified by her public reaction to the snake, or by the fact that her body felt more than a little content at being cradled so protectively in Ryan’s arms so recently after her erotic ruminations had headed in his direction. ‘I’m sorry, everyone! That was a bit of a shock. I’m not good with snakes.’

‘Don’t worry about it, boss.’ Ryan ran a consoling hand down Beth’s cotton-covered arm, creating small prickles of uninvited lust that appeared on top of the prickles of fear already there, and sending them both tripping towards her crotch.

Rueing her kinky imagination, Beth took another step away from her student. Moving rather too fast, she collided with the stocky frame of Harrison Harris. He’d crossed the site on his ever-silent feet to see what all the fuss was about without her even noticing, causing Beth to jump out of her skin for a second time. ‘Honestly. Harrison, don’t you ever make a sound when you move?’

‘Hardly ever!’ He treated her to one of his Colorado smiles, making Beth suspect that he was privately laughing at her. ‘You OK, doll?’

Not stopping to waste her breath on asking him for the umpteenth time not to call her “doll”, Beth did her best to ignore the twinkle in Harrison’s eye that confirmed he found the situation hilarious, and settled for being grateful that he hadn’t vocalised his mirth in front of their charges.

‘I’m fine. The snake took me by surprise.’

Beth had no doubt this little episode would be site folklore by dinner time. She didn’t usually care about that sort of thing, and was always one of the first to laugh when she made a fool of herself, but now she found her face darkening with embarrassment in the face of her colleague.

‘Is that all?’ Harrison bent down and retrieved the brush Beth had abandoned in her hurry to move away from the snake. ‘You’re sure?’

‘I’m sure. Just shock. I don’t like snakes. I haven’t damaged anything, I hope.’

‘No harm done.’ Harrison shot Ryan a look which plainly said “this time”, making Beth wonder if the timing of the breaking of the mosaic had gone unnoticed after all. ‘Here you go, doll.’ He gestured to the creature. ‘He’s just a sand snake. Won’t do you any harm. I’ll move him somewhere safe.’

‘Thank you.’ Beth’s words came out rather weakly as the unfortunate creature was picked up and repositioned against a dune of previously excavated sand, into which it quickly disappeared. Seeing Harrison rehome the creature with no more fuss than if he’d moved a worm from a flower bed to a vegetable patch made Beth even more cross with herself for being so feeble in front of a man she’d so badly wanted to impress. She found herself babbling in explanation, ‘Insects I have no problem with. Spiders are cool. But snakes … I can’t stand them.’

This time Harrison did laugh openly, wiping one of his calloused palms across his forehead, smearing dirt into his spiky hair and knocking back his faded Stetson in the process. ‘You’re a regular Indiana Jones, doll!’

Indie

Keen to keep the general atmosphere light, Beth added, ‘Well. As long as I don’t get chased by any oversized boulders or attacked by a tribe of pygmies with blowpipes then I guess I can live with the comparison!’

Taking a hefty swig from her water bottle, she smiled, relieved that her ability to laugh at herself was finally reasserting itself after days of being diminished by the heat.

Harrison grinned as he strolled to his side of the dig. ‘Gotta love that dry English sense of humour, doll.’

Beth called after him, ‘Thanks for the snake removal, Harry.’

He kept walking as he corrected her. ‘Harrison. It’s Harrison, I told you. I don’t like being called Harry.’

She shouted at his retreating back, ‘And I don’t like being referred to as a doll. It makes me sound like a character in an American B-movie! Message received?’

Still laughing, Harrison didn’t look round, but held up a hand as if in defeat. ‘Gotcha, doll! Message received.’

Stepping back into her square, Beth looked at her watch. It wasn’t even ten o’clock in the morning, and the heat was already making it feel as if someone was systematically pouring paint stripper across her shoulders. She could hear her students chatting happily as they worked. All except for Ryan, who was unusually quiet.

Beth sighed as she recalled Harrison’s glare towards Ryan, and realised it wasn’t just her rationale she’d left in the colder climate of home, but her common sense as well. It was time to come clean about how Ryan had messed up the mosaic and, more importantly, why she hadn’t reported the incident straight away.

Her decision made, Beth’s hands returned to working the ground, while her imagination speculated how it might have felt if Harrison had been the one she’d accidentally sat on. Would I have wanted to get up quite so quickly? Her pussy twitched as if in confirmation, as her green eyes studied the Roman drain …

Digging Deep is available as a download or a paperback from all good retailers, including-

Amazon UK-

Amazon US-

Happy reading!!

Kay xx

Returning to my roots: Lisabet Sarai  – #erotica #fantasies #nolimits

I am delighted to be hosting Lisabet Sarai,  a writer I have long since admired, to my blog today.

I fondly remember her novel -Raw Silk- one of the first Black Lace books I read. It seems like a lifetime ago. I never dreamed back then that one day, not only would I write erotica myself, but that some of the best writers in the business would be dropping by my site. 

Over to you Lisabet…

Returning to my roots  – #erotica #fantasies #nolimits

By Lisabet Sarai

In April 1999, almost two decades ago, Black Lace books published the first edition of my debut novel Raw Silk. That book is an explicit compendium of my personal fantasies, a taboo tale of one woman’s sexual odyssey that was strongly influenced by my own initiation into BDSM.

At the time, I knew next to nothing about the conventions of erotica or erotic romance. I didn’t exercise any sort of self-censorship. If an erotic scenario turned me on, it found its way into the novel. As a result, Raw Silk involves a wide variety of sexual activities and situations: heterosexual, lesbian, and gay; pairings, threesomes and foursomes; public sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, masturbation, bondage, spanking, flogging, caning, femdom; dildos, anal sex, pegging; even sex involving chopsticks and a mango! In fact, the original manuscript included a golden shower. The editor made me remove it (commenting that this would be physically difficult to achieve given the protagonist’s erection), but she allowed me to retain a promise by the dominant to do this sometime in the future.

Writing that first novel was an intense experience. The ideas simply poured out of me, onto the page. I was in a perpetual state of arousal. Compared to my more recent work, the prose is a bit stiff and pedantic, but Raw Silk remains one of my most popular books, perhaps because readers sense the unfettered imagination and genuine emotion that went into it.

As I continued to write and publish, however, learning more about market and genre, some of that spontaneity and passion got lost. I started working with a publisher of erotic romance and discovered that there were fairly strict rules for what readers would and would not accept. The main characters should not have recreational sex outside their relationship. Any sort of FF or MM interaction was strictly verboten in a MF book. Likewise, MF activity in a MM or FF story was likely to raise readers’ hackles. Then there were the “reader advisories” for more extreme activities: rough sex, anal sex, fisting, and so on. I frequently battled with my editors about content and language. Meanwhile, I had to firmly suppress my own lascivious imagination, which had my characters doing things I knew would be red-penciled out of the final story.

That state of war really exhausted me. It drained my creative energy. As a result, in the past four years, I’ve moved almost exclusively to self-publishing, and I’ve started to enjoy writing much more. And more recently, I’ve found my way back to my roots, putting out books with all sorts of sexual situations, books that shatter the genre barriers and set me free to chronicle my fantasies, the way I did when I began.

My latest release, Sin City Sweethearts, is a fine example. This book isn’t quite as personal as Raw Silk, but it probably has at least as much sexual variety. Indeed, like Raw Silk, it’s really about sex, about the characters exploring, experimenting, learning what they enjoy—then practicing their new knowledge as often as possible.

Sin City Sweethearts is the third book in my Vegas Babes series. All three novellas feature melt-your-panties, no-holds-barred, over-the-top, damn-the-consequences sexual indulgence. Everyone gets their happy endings; indeed, there are lots of couples and marriage vows. In my fictional world, though, that doesn’t necessarily translate to monogamy. Why waste golden opportunities for pleasure?

I’ve been having tremendous fun writing my Vegas Babes. I keep telling myself I should sit down and pen something more serious, with more redeeming social value. My salacious imagination seems to disagree.

By the way, I’d like to thank Kay for hosting me. As a bit of a treat for her readers, I will give away a free copy of the first Vegas Babes book, Hot Brides in Vegas, to one randomly chosen person who leaves a comment. Don’t forget to include your email so I can find you if you win!

Blurb

Welcome to Las Vegasleave your inhibitions at the city limits.

Like many newlyweds, Annie and Ted work hard, economize, live in a too-small apartment, and make passionate love whenever possible. They’re just a bit more open-minded and inclusive about sex than most couples—they met at The Fox’s Den strip club and bonded during an orgy. They’re delighted when fraternal twins Marcella and Madeleine McNabb move into the apartment downstairs. The innocent eighteen year old beauties have come to Las Vegas for university and to escape their overprotective family. Annie and Ted figure it’s practically their duty to educate the sisters about the real Sin City.

Marcie and Maddy prove to be apt pupils, with voracious carnal appetites. Before long they’re intimately involved not only with their upstairs neighbors, but also their hippie landlord and landlady, Maddy’s hunky coach, Marcie’s dominant department head, a handful of their classmates, a bevy of strippers from the Den  and the infamous Foxy and Larry themselves. Then the four McNabb brothers come to town, threatening to drag the twins back to Ely, and things get truly wild.

Exclusive Excerpt

Marcie stepped into the dimly lit corridor beyond the door, which clicked shut behind her, muting the blare of the music and the buzz of the crowd. She looked around her, her heart beating double time. She knew she shouldn’t be here. If a stranger challenged her, she could use the same story that had worked with Rosa, but what if she ran into Larry?

Her footsteps were silent in the carpeted hallway. There were several doors on either side, all of them closed, none of them marked. Annie and her friends were likely behind one of them, but which one?

“Oh, yes— please…!”

The barely articulate plea died away into a moan of pleasure. It wasn’t Annie’s voice, but it was definitely a woman—a woman in the throes of sexual bliss. Marcella tiptoed toward the second door on the left, the apparent source of the vocalization.

“Oh—sir!”  The new cry confirmed Marcie’s hunch. Hardly daring to breath, she tried the knob. To her surprise, it turned easily. She pushed just hard enough to open the portal a few inches, then peered inside.

Blood rushed to her nipples and her clit. Moisture gathered in her cleft to re-soak her already damp panties. The scene inside might have been something from a kinky internet porn site—not that she’d ever done that sort of forbidden surfing—but this was real, unfolding just a few feet from where she watched.

A naked woman lay draped face down over a coffee table. The layer of cushions under her prone body was piled higher beneath her hips to elevate her ass. In the front, straps bound her wrists to the table legs. At the rear, a bar of polished wood at least three feet long held her shackled ankles apart.

She was positioned at right angles to the door. Marcella could see everything, quite clearly: her full breasts, mashed against the table; the tangled black hair hanging in her eyes; the sweat gleaming along the curve of her spine; and the angry red marks streaking her ample buttocks.

The woman was not young—Marcella guessed she might be in her fifties—but her voluptuous sensuality was overwhelming. A flush of arousal further darkened her Mediterranean complexion. She writhed and moaned, grinding her pelvis against the pillows. Marcie felt the vicarious effects as own her clit swelled and pulsed. Like the woman upon whom she spied, she was close to the edge.

A whistling swish was followed by a snap. Marcie gasped along with the victim as a ribbon of leather sizzled through the air to leave a raw new stripe on the woman’s ass.

“Oh, God!”  the stranger wailed, in obvious pain.

“Too much? Should I stop, Giulia?” The man’s voice seemed familiar. Marcie widened the crack through which she peered until she could see the woman’s tormenter.

“No, no, sir,” came her choked cry. “More! Please, give me more!”

Marce swallowed hard. The massive security guard they’d met outside the club stood behind the bound woman, between her splayed legs. Tiny, that was what Annie had called him. He was fully dressed, in a tight black tee that highlighted his powerful shoulders and chest and trim black jeans that seemed painted onto his muscular thighs. His cock reared up from the open fly—the longest, thickest, most awe-inspiring cock she’d ever seen. It pointed straight up toward the ceiling, reaching from his groin to his solar plexus. Protruding veins twisted around its huge girth, like vines around a tree trunk. The scarlet head was so slick and swollen it looked like it might burst.

The guard pumped his meat a few times with his left hand then swung the whip in his right. With a sharp report it landed on his partner’s rear, carving a new trail of red.

“Yes!” she yelled, jerking against the cushions. “Yes! Yes! Yes! I’m almost there, sir. One more, just one more…”

Leather sliced the air, then her flesh. Releasing a garbled yell, she tumbled into a loud, energetic climax. Her master watched for two beats, then drove his astounding cock into her wide-open cleft, burying himself to the hilt.

She came again, humping the cushions while he pistoned in and out of her hole. Meanwhile he spanked her whip-battered butt, his big palms landing on her punished cheeks with terrifying, arousing smacks.

Marcella’s legs gave out. She sank to her knees outside the door, both hands stuffed into her drenched panties, frigging herself as hard as she could while she watched that enormous dick stroking in and out of the submissive’s stretched and juicy cunt. She nudged the door a bit, to get a better view of the swollen pink pussy-lips clinging to the guard’s rod as he retreated for each new thrust. Then he’d ram back in, until his balls bounced against her clit. The woman—Giulia, she remembered—took every inch of his unbelievable length.

Buy Links

Kinky Literature – https://kinkyliterature.com/book/5123-sin-city-sweethearts-vegas-babes-book-3/

Amazon  US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07MQVSWCH

Amazon UK –  https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07MQVSWCH

Smashwords –  https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/917885

Barnes and Noble – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/sin-city-sweethearts-lisabet-sarai/1130204032?ean=2940155941880

Add on Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/43594528-sin-city-sweethearts

About the Author

Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – over one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, GLBT, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads and finally, on Twitter.

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Huge thanks to Lisabet for such a fabulous blog – and the chance for a free read to one lucky commenter! So get commenting!

Happy reading everyone,

Kay xx

 

The Golden Shana Series: Blog Tour

The Day I Interviewed – Hang On Right There! –

Roman Alastair F*ck-Me-Rigid Castell!

By Emancietta “Emasculetta” Berkley

Sunny morning, late spring, and I still can’t wrap my head around it – I’m sitting on a park bench with Roman Alastair Northcott Broughton Castell, admiring the riot of colours in the park gardens. It’s his park, open to the public six days a week. I mean the man is not even twenty-nine yet. He’s wearing one of his signature suits – no tie, cufflinks the price of Midas.

The Park, as it is popularly known in the city, as if it was the only park in Hamburg, surrounds the RAC Business Park, a building complex of chrome, glass and marble that reaches up to the skies. He dedicated the building to his mother, Lady Marissa. There’s a ginormous statue of her as the goddess Nike, the Goddess of Victory, riding a chariot, right in the middle of the park. So don’t mistake it for his other buildings, like the RAC Business Centre where he has his offices. We sit facing the statue. I decide that’s a good opener for the interview with this extraordinary man. But his blue eyes on me unsettle me and I say:

EB: Mr Castell, tell me about yourself, the real Roman A.N.B Castell.

[His smile is as straight as a shepherd’s crook.]

RAC: Ms Berkley, if you don’t know about me you’re yet to be born. There’s no Real Roman Castell and Unreal Roman Castell. I’m all of me.

[Those eyes and the smile are really hard to deal with. At least as a woman, and believe me I’m not the timid sort. But I’m thinking I only have one minute with him – yapp, ONE. He dictated that as the condition for this chance in a zillion to interview him out here in the open. There might never be another interview granted for the next decade. To anybody. So I skip asking about his mother, the woman he calls his favourite girl.]

EB: Is it true that you and Ms Berg broke up at the opera house La Scala in Milan? If so, why? You’ve been together for the longest time known in your history with the ladies as Europe’s Most Chased-After Bachelor & Dominant.

RAC: I’ll answer this for both of us. For me and for Ms Berg. We’re no longer sleeping with each other, but we’re the best of friends. In fact she may be my only close female friend. And I’m sure you can answer your Why question for yourself.

[Damn. I’m still chewing his first sentence in my racing brain. Was it a secret message to Ms Marie Berg? Or a coded one to me? Like: Don’t you dare bother her, Ms Berkley?]

EB: Mr Castell, there have been talk in certain close circles about you chasing after another lady, Ms Shana Lindqvist. We’re all wondering why you continue this quest when you can have any woman in the world at the—

RAC: Prof Dr Lindqvist is my novelty. She ups the anticipation while cancelling out the expectation. I prefer a woman with fire in the belly. The harder she battles me, the harder I get, pun not just intended but included. I don’t want a Stockholm syndrome relationship, with her bending to my will and doing everything I demand or anticipate, to please me, her captor. Instead, Prof Dr Lindqvist captivates me with womanhood defiance of the highest order. We are two sides of the same scale. In order for the equilibrium to be maintained, for us to work, we have to each have equal weight. That’s her, my woman.

EB: That’s not exactly what is associated with a Dom, Mr Castell.

RAC: You should never associate that with me, ever, Ms Berkley. Look for those breed of Dominants elsewhere. When all my commands are meekly followed, where’s the challenge? What’s left there to dominate?

[Lordamerceyanmeh!]

EB: You sound as if you and Ms—ah, Prof Dr Lindqvist are already an item. Anything we, as the public, should probably know?

RAC: You should learn the art of listening, Ms Berkley. I’m a ©Domristocrat. One of a kind. And I’ll make Dr Lindqvist my woman. My ©Subristocrat. I’ve patented those two words just for the two of us. A full century patent.

EB: I’m not sure I got that, Sir.

[I don’t know why I call him Sir – it just slips out of me. He smiles. I damn near fall off the bench, shift a little away from him. His aura-pull is forbidden and outlawed in Christendom. Or should be.]

RAC: Again, I derive no joy from boot-licking servility of the current trends in the scene, Ms Berkley. It has no originality to offer me and make me feel as if I were some feudal lord who needed slavish dependence to prop up my dominance. What I need is a woman with fire in the belly, dynamite in the brains and an indomitable spirit. A woman who would give me a good fight before I brought her down under my command. A woman who offers me half a dozen wars in hundreds of strategic battles simultaneously. A ©Domristocrat’s woman. My woman. The woman worthy of all of me, heart and soul. Did you get me this time, Ms Berkley?

[Gulp. OhJesusLordGulp. I’m not sure I have, and I’m not asking for clarifications. I dread what I might hear. For my own womanly safety. Normally I’m granite. I have a reputation and have been labelled “ball-crusher” and “Emasculetta” in my career as a journalist. My column, Emancietta’s Column, was dubbed Emasculetta’s Column.]

EB: It was an intriguing explanation, Mr Castell. You’re a determined man.

RAC: In all I do, Ms Berkley.

[He adamantly refuses to call me Emancietta, even after I’ve asked him to do so several times before we embarked on the interview]

EB: Do you have a way of knowing which woman is submissive simply by a glimpse at them, Mr Castell?

RAC: That’s part of the nature, Ms Berkley. It’s what a ©Domri is all about. I’m a ©Domristocrat and a hunter. I must know how to locate and single out the prey blindfolded.

EB: So what’s the difference between a Dom and a Domristocrat?

RAC: Me. I’m one of a kind. Patented, remember?

[His listing-to-port-smiles are nipple clamps, you can quote me on that. And then the under-look? Lordamercey!]

EB: Suppose, just suppose, you discover Dr Lindqvist is not inclined to the BDSM lifestyle, what would—

RAC: I’m thrilled she isn’t. That’s why she is my woman. She’s no submissive, she’s Subristocrat, Ms Berkley. And now, [he looks at his watch – a piece that cost about a third of America] you said you needed a minute. We’ve surpassed that.

[He rises, like an unfolding laid-back panther, towers over me, and holds his hand out to me. I look at it.]

RAC: I enjoyed the minute.

[My hand has found its way into his ultra-soft palm… Emancietta is Emasculetted.]

EB: Thank you, Mr Castell. The pleasure’s mine. And good luck, Sir.

[Over his shoulder… with that go-shower-little-one look]

RAC: For once, I just might need it, Ms Berkley. But challenges are me.

I watch him stride smoothly across his park to his Limited Edition Veyron, not any of his chauffeur-driven limos. The black and maroon thing he left parked a few hundred yards from the statue on the gravel paths that only gardeners’ vans are allowed to drive on.

I watch him drive himself off like a god in his own version of a chariot, out to outdo any other modern Ben Hur who would dare.

Wow. Make a note and chisel it on marble: I, Emancietta Berkley, had a private interview with Roman Alastair Northcott Broughton Castell, on a sunny May midmorning in front of the statue he dedicated to his mother, Lady Marissa, at the RAC Business Park, for over one minute…

***

Blurb: Golden Shana: The Chase (Book 1)

An evening at the opera house La Scala in Milan twirled the lives of five people into a web of intrigues, heartaches, human hunts, loss and revenge.

Roman: I never chased after a woman. It was always the other way around. Then I caught a glimpse of the woman I would kneel for, at the opera, and I didn’t even know her name. But I determined to find her if it took me the rest of my life.

Shana: He stood in the room with her. The frisson in the currents freaking between them was as solid as a steel portal. The mutual force of predator and prey blasted its way into her core … her soul … Danger. Keep far away from him.

Marie: Some men were born to rule the world; others were born to ruin it. Roman Alastair Northcott Broughton Castell was born to do both. But she loved him and awaited his baby.

Alyssa: He was the lover she wouldn’t tire of. Roman had something so damned perilous about him he was addictive. Who gets addicted to safe and riskless? Not her.

Grieg/Phoenix: Had His Girl interpreted that Friday night as abuse? He’d only done what she wanted – protection of her cherished innocence.

Excerpt from Golden Shana: The Chase (Book 1)

What a difference a day makes… And it hadn’t been a day. It had been an evening in Milan. Brief moments of an evening. I didn’t care about the consequences to whomever. Through my obsession with Svadishana I became aware of the fact that I was a person. A human being, not an almighty god, with all the baggage that comes with being that. I too – eureka! – had a heart pumping white and red corpuscles through my veins. Blood, not icicles.

Was it love I felt for Svadishana? A woman I’d spoken three whiny words – Please call me! – to? Was it more than simple lust and desire? Did I want to possess more than just her body?

Pondering these questions alone was so unlike me. That woman had turned me into an alien even unto my own self. What I felt, my inner voice said, was more than the thrill of the hunt. More than lust, desire, need, passion, the excitement of possession, and subjugation.

Of course all that was part of it. But the basis or the source, the seedbed on which all that sprouted and was growing to full blossom in me, could well be something else.

When I thought of her, saw her image from Milan in my mind, watched how she moved in long smooth strides in YouTube, my brow beaded with sweat. I couldn’t pull my gaze away from the few photos I’d fished out of the Internet. Group photos at a family birthday or the authorized biography of her father. Her movements in a YouTube conference clip were springy and powerful even in their smoothness. She exuded strength all over the place, laughing, talking, gesticulating.

A breath-taking beauty. Such beauty that I dared not believe it at times.

And brains to go with it.

In love or not, I knew what I wanted and Svadishana was the answer. I wanted her and would do anything short of suicide to get her. Who knows – perhaps when it came to that as the only means available, I’d really murder too. I didn’t in the least care about the consequences, as long as they got me to where I wanted to get to.

Svadishana’s arms and knickers and… heart?

What obsession, Roman. Get back to real.

No chance. Real was Svadishana.

***

BUY LINKS IN KINDLE – Please note that the books are also available in paperbacks:

UK Kindle: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Golden-Shana-Chase-von-KOry-ebook/dp/B00WA7M3OC/

UK Kindle: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Golden-Shana-Capture-von-KOry-ebook/dp/B06X1DGGMZ/

UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Golden-Shana-Untouchable-von-KOry-ebook/dp/B07H1YY28C#reader_1725967073

US Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/Golden-Shana-Capture-von-KOry-ebook/dp/B06X1DGGMZ/

US Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/Golden-Shana-Untouchable-von-KOry-ebook/dp/B07H1YY28C/

UK Untouchable PB: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Golden-Shana-Untouchable-von-KOry/dp/1725967073

Website http://www.Akinyi-princess.de

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GIVEAWAY!

Make sure to follow the whole tour—the more posts you visit throughout, the more chances you’ll get to enter the giveaway. The tour dates are here: http://writermarketing.co.uk/prpromotion/blog-tours/currently-on-tour/a-p-von-kory/

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Pre-order News: A Kink a Day

About eight months ago I was sorting through a massive pile of short stories- all kinky, all homeless and all written by me.

It didn’t take me long to decide what to do with them. Each tale has now been reedited and forms part of a brand new series of anthologies that I’ve called ‘A Kink a Day.

Blurb:

Eight hot erotic fantasies – one for each night of the week – and a spare…

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.

(A Kink a Day Book One contains stories previously published in Quick Kink One. )

The world around us is becoming more stressful by the day. What better way is there to ease away that stress than by reading a hot and sexy bedtime story? Unless it’s reading it to a friend…

Coming 13th September 2018 – pre-order now:

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

Books 2 and 3 will be released in October and November respectively!

So, if you like a quick sexy read once a day, then the ‘A Kink a Day’ collections are for you! From erotic romance, to fetish, to BDSM; there are stories for everyone.

Why not pre-order now to ensure your tablet, phone, or PC is loaded up with stories as soon as ‘A Kink a Day – Book One’ is published?

Happy reading,

Kay x

 

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