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New contract. New look. Making Him Wait is back!

It is with great excitement that I can announce my new contract with the fabulous Sinful Press! They have taken on my popular paint spattered erotic romance, Making Him Wait.

Just look at this wonderful new cover!

Using the premise of self-control as its central theme, Making Him Wait, takes modern BDSM erotic romantic fiction and gives it an extra nudge into the realm of an artists studio.

Blurb-

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!

****

To celebrate the re-release of Making Him Wait, I thought I’d share a  juicy extract to whet your appetite.

Ignoring the buzz of her mobile phone, Maddie placed the worn stub of charcoal to the side of her easel and took a step back from the girl before her.

Maddie nodded with approval as her newest model – a petite blonde – flexed the muscles she’d been keeping stock still for the previous half hour.

“Control, Freya – at least the appearance of control – is everything.” The artist reached out an affectionate hand to her muse.

Freya rocked a little on her bare feet as Maddie touched her lightly freckled cheek. “No need to look so worried, honey. You are doing brilliantly. It’s a difficult pose to hold for so long.”

“Thank you.” Blushing an endearing shade of pink, Freya lowered the hands she’d nervously clenched before her, giving her employer another chance to see the neat triangle of her semi-shaved pussy.

Maddie, her jeans and t-shirt smeared and spattered with all the mediums of her trade, did not feel the need to mention to Freya that her own knickers were sodden, nor that beneath her holster bra, her nipples were rock hard.

A further buzz from her mobile alerted Maddie to the arrival of another text message. In fact a steady string of muffled noises from her mobile, coming from the pit of her handbag, had been announcing the arrival of texts every ten minutes or so throughout the morning.

Smiling to herself, Maddie continued to disregard her phone and considered the exquisite outline of her companion’s porcelain frame. Most people came to Maddie to be drawn or painted, sometimes as a commission for a lover, husband or wife. Some, however, like Freya, came to the studio as a way of improving their self-confidence. Despite her generally shy demeanour, Freya had proved to be very good at posing as Maddie required and the artist had offered her an occasional job as a life model.

Sometimes Maddie felt she was more therapist than artist – specifically a sex therapist – as men and women alike shared their most intimate secrets while standing on the other side of her easel. Maddie’s studio certainly had the air of an erotic fantasy confessional about it. She wasn’t complaining, however. No other life would do for her now. The job satisfaction Maddie achieved from listening to the dreams and fantasies of others while she recreated them onto canvas, went hand in glove with the personal physical gratification it gave her.

Money being either plentiful or non-existent, depending on the current success of her commissions and sales, Maddie had been forced to develop an alternative form of payment for her models – a reward system for good work. Maddie could tell from the rise and fall of Freya’s chest and the glistening damp skin at the top of her thighs, that she was more than ready to be paid for today’s session.

Closing in on her model, Maddie simultaneously cupped Freya’s slick pussy and left breast with her charcoal-blackened hands, causing an involuntary shiver to ripple through the younger woman’s body.

“Your progress really is outstanding, honey. Few of my models can stay as motionless as you can.” Congratulating Freya on her skill, Maddie left two dark palm prints on the girl’s tits and tapped at the inside of her legs. “Open up. I think you have deserved a treat after all your hard work.”

Gliding her palm over Freya’s mound, Maddie slipped a gentle finger into the slippery canal of the model’s frantically clutching sex, enjoying the murmured mew of contentment that escaped from her lipstick-free mouth.

Pumping gently, the artist brought Freya close to orgasm with steady increases and decreases of pressure – her own mind straying to her mobile. Maddie wondered where Theo was and what he was doing. She knew what he was thinking about. She always knew that. Theo thought about her.

Pushing her happily sex-drugged model onto an armchair, Maddie’s own arousal kicked up a notch as she bent to lick Freya’s nub, swiftly bringing her to the dawn of a shuddering release.

While continuing to take pleasure in the sweet taste of another woman on her lips, Maddie considered how she’d phrase her responses to all the messages Theo had sent and how she’d tell him precisely what and who had held up her replies.

Inhaling Freya’s climactic scent, Maddie’s hands roamed up and over the small, orgasm-jacked body, her thoughts still with Theo. His work-calloused right hand was probably on his dick at that very moment. A heady hit of power consumed Maddie – a power as intense as the climax of the woman panting hard in the chair before her.

Maddie loved making him wait…

****

You won’t have to wait much longer before you can buy Making Him Wait!

The paperback and eBook versions will be out by the end of January…just watch this space..

***

Many thanks for dropping by today to help share in my excitement! Cakes and vino all round I think!

Kay xx

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

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 (Kink) Miracle

Traditionally Christmas is a time associated with miracles and good fortune.

Well, to my surprise and delight a little miracle has fallen my way – and it couldn’t have been better timed.

For the second day running, Christmas Kink : Six Festive Fantasies, is number one in the erotica chart on Amazon UK

Not only that but it is also in the Amazon Bestsellers Rank at:

#97 Paid in Kindle Store 

#1 in Kindle Store > Books > Literature & Fiction > Erotica

#2 in Books > Erotica > Literature & Fiction

#116 in Books > Fiction

 

By the time you read this blog, my festive fantasy collection may well have fallen in the rankings- and that’s OK. To be up there (ahead of Fifty Shades- let’s face it…that’s always a good day if that happens), even for a few hours is a wonderful experience.

It is particularly special for me because I have been having a serious re-think about my erotica lately.

 

 

I’ve been having a wonderful time re-editing my ‘The Perfect Submissive Trilogy’- which I am pleased to say is already -ummm- enflaming a whole new generation of readers.  The Fifth Floor (previous entitled The Perfect Submissive) is back with a vengeance. Book 2, The Retreat is already appearing on a chapter per day basis on the Radish app, and will be out in both paperback and eBook early next year- closely followed by Book 3, Knowing Her Place.

 

The question I’ve been asking myself however, is do I write anything new in the erotic genre?

I love writing erotica, but as I write so many other genres as well, is it worth my time writing any more? I ask the question in the light of receiving this missive… (and I’m quoting from a major publisher here…) “Kay Jaybee will never make money in erotica because she makes the mistake of treating her readers as if they are clever, have an imagination, and can think beyond the realm of reality TV.

I still can’t decide who I’m most insulted for – me – or you guys!

This is not the first time such a comment has come my way- and although it is sort of nice to be considered as writing intelligently….well…you get my point…

So- 2018 is going to bring many re-leased KJB books…but will the sequel to Wednesday on Thursday get written? Will the sexy spoof spy thriller I’ve been drafting get penned….or should I just quit while I’m….behind???

In the meantime- THANK YOU to everyone who has purchased Christmas Kink!! VERY much appreciated. You’ve made my day!

Hugs,

Kay xx

 

 

 

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