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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

 

 

 

 

 

Bondseque

WARNING. Some rather bad innuendos are coming your way…

Many moons ago, when struggling to break through in writing, my then partner looked at my dream job and took it in hand to blow some inspiration into me, and thus she thrust ten inches of astonishment into my face; a newspaper article on how a novelist was finding more sales and fulfillment as an erotic writer than as a “serious” author. (Not that I’m saying writing erotica, isn’t being a series writer!!)

“Why don’t you have a go?” demanded the now-ex, knowing my work was flaccid, my determination limp and my work-ethic shrivelled, for I had been getting nowhere with mainstream writing and was therefore experiencing enormous difficulty in keeping it up.

I decided to have a go and was soon producing a steady drip of novella-length fantasy erotica which did actually sell a few copies. While modesty (and reality) forbids me from claiming I was enormous, I did have more success than hitherto, with readers gulping down the seeds of my modest pen. Is this going anywhere, you may ask? Or have I already finished while you were distracted by that new crack on the ceiling?

Well, after this frenzied activity, I was spent; my quill burnt out, my inspiration dried, the great throbbing rocket of my work toppled and refusing to go off.  And so it remained until the present lock down, when I was furloughed and twiddling my body parts (thumbs, just in case you needed clarification). Having edited three works in progress, I needed something else to do, and I suddenly remembered I’d started an erotica years ago which never reached any sort of climax.

This one was a bit different. My previous work was all quite straight, and rather humourless. This one was a ridiculous over-the-top Carry On style Bond spoof. With bonking. Lots and lots of comedy bonking. In villainous lairs, in aeroplanes and under giant lasers. The story featured twosomes, threesomes, and about twenty-sixsomes.

The humour is silly, the puns awful, the scenarios deliberately laboured and the whole thing was contrived beyond all reason. I got it out, dusted it down, breathed on it, polished it, stiffened it up and finally thrust it up Amazon Kindle. And then did it twice more to make a trilogy, damn-near straining my wrist into the bargain. (What with all the added typing).

And here it is. The fruit of my literary loins. A thoroughly silly-sexy-Bondesque-spoof-type thing running to a rather brisk 10,000 words. With mutated snapping turtles, a space-faring flatulent monkey, a giant laser, a glamorous secret agent in the person of Agent 69, Juno Keswick, and a sexually inadequate villain promising death to the world. And the name of this literary masterpiece?

Doctor Blow.

By More.

Roger More.

Roger Much More.

And all for the price of 78 British pence. (That’s 99 cents, for US readers).

What more could you ask for?

Apart from (obviously) plot, character, suspense and higher literary meaning?

So, why not grab a coffee, grab a copy of the book, and have a giggle for an hour or so during these odd times?

Keep on rogering.

Roger.

Extract:

Juno Keswick, A.U.N.T Agent 69, unaware of the crisis engulfing the planet, was at that moment on a fairly routine mission. She was trapped in the secret lair of a megalomaniac super-villain who had suspended her upside down over a poisonous rock pool in which mutated snapping turtles swam in lazy circles, waiting for their dinner to be lowered down to them.

It was a good life, being the mutated snapping turtle of a megalomaniac villain. True, they had to wait some time for each meal to be lowered as their insane creator, Professor Havelock, liked to gloat over his victims, but the turtles had learned patience.

It was true also that the morality of consuming anyone who transgressed against the professor was a grey area at best, but when all was said and done, the turtles were on three square meals a day and had a nice pool to swim in. Against such luxury, morality was simply an inconvenience.

“Now, Miss Keswick,” called the professor from the control board of the mini crane that clasped Juno’s boots, holding her over the bubbling surface of the pool. “Do you now regret your desire to interfere in my plans?”

“Hardly a desire, professor,” drawled Juno as she swung gently back and forth. “It’s what I was trained to do.”

“Ah, yes, for glory and honour, queen and country,” sneered the professor. “And see where that has got you. Suspended over the pit of turtle doom!”

“It’s an occupational hazard.”

“Pah! Foolish girl. What did you think you could achieve against me? What can you do, suspended over the pit of turtle doom, when I hold your handbag with all your secret gadgets?

“The lipstick which turns into a laser,” continued the professor. “The mirror which doubles as a communicator; the pen which turns into a missile; the strange wand stamped as a Big Boy Mark 4 and with settings ranging from “Titillate” to “Oh my God Yes” which I haven’t quite worked out, as yet, though my laboratory will reveal all under analysis?”

“That last one’s not actually a weapon, and I don’t appreciate you getting your grubby fingerprints all over it,” observed Juno, her hands casually clasping the hem of her short silver dress to preserve her modesty. “And you forgot the compact,”

“What of the compact?”

“Oh, haven’t you worked that one out yet? I’m not surprised; it is quite complicated.”

“Complicated?” echoed the professor, pulling the tortoiseshell compact from the bag. “It’s a standard compact with a garrotting wire wrapped in the edge, a small tracker built into the upper lid and fake face powder which is in fact a powerful narcotic. There is no mystery here.”

“You have neglected the final surprise.”

“Oh, you mean the explosive charge hidden under the powder? I assure you, my dear, I have been very careful in not pressing the secret button moulded into the bottom of the case.”

“And therein lies your mistake.”

The professor frowned, angry at the implication he had missed something. “What mistake?”

“The secret button doesn’t activate the explosive charge. It deactivates it. If you hold the compact for longer than one minute without pressing the button, the charge will ignite. Right about now!”

The professor yelled as the compact exploded in his hand, spraying narcotic powder into his face. He staggered around in a strange semi-circle which rather improbably took him around the crane and up to the very edge of the turtle pool of death. He coughed and raged feebly as the narcotic seeped into his system, sending him into a deep sleep.

“No, this cannot be,” he slurred as his body hovered over the edge of the pool, one foot suspended over the swirling water. “Oh, the unforeseen irony, that after dumping so many of my enemies in here, I too should contrive to fall into my very own pit of zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.” With a huge snore, the professor tumbled forward into the pit.

Amazon: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Doctor-Blow-Featuring-Agent-Keswick-ebook/dp/B08CTGXGF1/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2CMU6Y0R3WLW2&dchild=1&keywords=roger+much+more&qid=1595510194&sprefix=roger+much+mo%2Caps%2C150&sr=8-1

Twitter: https://twitter.com/RogerMuch

Bio

“Roger Much More is known the world over as a top secret spy in a safari suit. But don’t tell anyone. It’s a secret…”

***

Many thanks Roger – happy blowing xx

Something for the Weekend: Not Her Type

It’s time to enjoy some weekend smut.

This week I’m sharing the beginning of my hot delivery man erotica,

Not Her Type: Erotic Adventures of a Delivery Man

(copyright- Kay Jaybee and 1001NightsPress)Not Her Type

Tuesday – It Begins

What the hell am I doing? I’m a good girl; I just don’t do things like this.

A tiny fraction of Jenny’s conscience screamed at her. The remainder of her brain sent her hands on a thorough exploration of the densely haired chest that had unexpectedly appeared from beneath her companion’s polo-shirt. The fact that Jenny had never liked men with hairy chests seemed irrelevant.

Standing in front of her, diving a hand under Jenny’s top, John squeezed her left nipple hard, wonderfully hard, making her squeal with pain-tingling gratification. Removing her shirt at top speed, John freed her breasts from their confinement.

Moving as if on auto-pilot, Jenny’s fingers visited his trousers’ waistband, but in her haste she couldn’t get his belt undone. Rescuing her from her embarrassment with a smile, John mumbled something about it always being difficult to open and undid it himself. Jenny barely heard him as a neat pair of charcoal grey boxers appeared, swiftly followed by—Oh My God—the most beautiful dick she had seen in years, perhaps ever.

As she knelt before him, the voice in Jenny’s head continued its rant, reminding her that she hated giving blowjobs. Since her first experience as a college student, she had neither liked the taste of cock, nor the sensation of being gagged. Now however, working on instincts she never knew she had, Jenny took John deep within her throat. She felt his fingers drag urgently through her knotty, brown hair, raking her scalp as she greedily worked him around her mouth.

“Hell girl, have you any idea how often I’ve dreamt of you doing this?” John confessed. “Night after night I wank about you, about you holding me in your throat like this.”

Jenny was consumed with a perverse pride as she listened to John’s words—making her wonder if she should admit to the stolen moments she’d spent alone with a silver vibrator and her own filthy imaginings. Imaginings contrary to her normal fantasies; fantasies that often featured him.

His penis felt fantastic in her mouth, but the restless ache in Jenny’s pussy was becoming unbearable, and she pulled away, panting. The instant she let go of his shaft, John tugged her back to her feet and grasped her butt, kneading it in a way that would give her bruises for days to come, while kissing her as if his life depended on it.

Conveniently forgetting that she didn’t like the feel of stubble against her skin, Jenny relished the burn of his unshaven face grazing her, scraping her cheeks as their lips and teeth clashed together.

Her head buzzed, and her nipples were tickled by his chest hairs, and Jenny began to feel as if she were overdosing on desire. She badly wanted to slow everything down but, at the same time, she needed to go faster. She wasn’t far from climax, and the mere idea of their illicit situation was enough to send Jenny to the very edge of orgasm.

Recognizing how close she was, John shoved his customer’s knickers unceremoniously to her ankles. “I want to see you on your hands and knees,” he ordered.

Sinking against the carpet as instructed, Jenny’s breathing snagged as she heard the sharp rip of a condom packet being opened. Seconds later, Jenny found her courier’s thick cock sliding into her from behind. She was about to tell him how fantastically full she felt when John wiped all coherent thought from Jenny’s head by jamming his thumb up her arse.

Nuzzling his mouth against Jenny’s neck, John thrust against her, holding her hips as they frantically moved together. Trembling, Jenny’s knees began to buckle, and her elbows quaked. Seeing she was about to collapse to the floor, John eased out of her body, and flipped her onto her back, before plunging his dick inside her again. She clung onto his tattooed arms (ignoring her lifelong aversion to body art), relishing in the glorious warmth of her orgasm, as he shot his spunk into her naked body.

As soon as their breathing levels returned to normal, John knelt close to Jenny, teasing out the springy curls of her hair as he spoke, “I’m sorry Jen. I don’t like just walking out on you, but I have to go. I’m behind with my rounds.” Jenny watched her courier dress with lightning speed, leaving in a flurry of promises and assurances that he’d return the following week.

The living room seemed so large, so empty once John’s bulky frame had gone. Stunned and disheveled, Jenny stared at the space around her as delayed shock kicked in.

How the hell had that happened?

 It had been years since Jenny had had sex. Twelve years, in fact; if you discounted one brief and unsatisfactory encounter that occurred three years ago. That was four thousand, three hundred, and eighty days of a self-imposed embargo after one-too-many broken hearts. She had survived by surrounding herself with friends, reading hundreds of erotica books, and giving in to countless masturbation sessions. But now, out of nowhere, right in the middle of her lounge,  , when she should have been sitting at her little desk checking other peoples’ accounts, she’d been thoroughly and expertly fucked.

Standing perfectly motionless, and very aware of her pulse pounding against her chest in the eerie quiet, Jenny tried to figure out what on earth had just happened. How their usual coffee break, with each of them sitting on either side of her dining table, had developed into a semi-naked romp on the sofa.

John had been in her home for only thirty minutes, and twenty of those had been spent discussing the DVDs that he’d come to deliver, just as he did every Tuesday. Then, he’d said something about how much he enjoyed their weekly chats, how hers was the only home where he was received as a friend, and how he always felt strange leaving her without so much as a hug.

Thinking back, trying to make sense of it all, Jenny thought that perhaps she’d laughed nervously when he’d said that, and told him she’d liked their “putting the world to rights” time as well.

That was when he’d actually hugged her for real, and she’d looked up into his wide, dark brown eyes and, in all of her thirty-three years, she had never felt a twist of lust like the one she felt then. It had burnt into her like some sort of erotic radiation.

How did I not see that coming? How bloody naive have I become? Jenny wondered. Shit, I don’t even know if he’s single…It’s been so long since I had a quick fuck. Too long…Hell, now I want another one, and soon. Damn.

Running upstairs to her bedroom, Jenny stripped off her hastily donned clothes and stared critically into the full-length mirror. Do I look different? No, my arms are still a touch too flabby, my backside a little too big, and my skin too pale.

She felt different though. A bit like the girl she used to be, when she’d been a student. When she’d been braver.

As Jenny carried on staring at her reflection, she allowed her hands to trace the outline of her body, a body that was already infused with the heady aftershocks of being totally seen to. Flashbacks of her past assailed her. Things she’d consigned to the back of her mind and nailed up into a little box, never to be opened again—parts of her life that she had long since given up on.

Losing all concept of time as she stood there, naked, still able to feel the mark of his fingers on her flesh, Jenny shook her head, trying to dismiss the memories that her body’s unscheduled reawakening had brought to the surface. She wondered just how many customers John had seduced with those dangerous eyes. How many other sets of fingertips had tripped lightly over the Japanese-styled characters tattooed on his muscular arms?

“Let’s face it,” she spoke sternly to her reflection, “that was just a one-off. Next week he’ll just want a quick coffee as usual.” Doing her best to pull herself together, Jenny unhooked her wrap from the back of her bedroom door. Heading to the shower, her wits were a tattered mass of contradictions—the elation she felt from the astounding sex was at odds with the very clear proclamation that was niggling at the back of her head. Jenny honey, he just isn’t your type. He isn’t even close!

***

If you want to know what happens next (and I can promise you one hell of a kinky ride), you can buy Not Her Type in either eBook or paperback form from….

Links-

Amazon UK – http://www.amazon.co.uk/Not-Her-Type-Adventures-ebook/dp/B00C8PDEE4/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1365345730&sr=8-1&keywords=Not+Her+TYpe+kay+jaybee 

Amazon.com – http://www.amazon.com/Not-Her-Type-Adventures-ebook/dp/B00C8PDEE4/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1365345892&sr=8-1&keywords=Not+Her+Type+kay+jaybee

1001 NightsPress- http://1001nightspress.com/#!/page_KayJaybee

Happy reading!!

Kay

Something for the weekend: A Kink a Day Book Three

Heavy week at work? Why not sit down (lie down?) and enjoy a moment’s full on kink.

This week I thought I’d share a little from

A Kink a Day – Book Three for #somethingfortheweekend 

A Kink a Day – Book Three

From the extreme kink of a wedding at a city S&M club, a deliciously erotic rendition on a double bass, an imaginative take on a set of brushes, and beyond, A Kink a Day Book Three provides eight bite-sized moments of lust-fuelled distraction. One for every day of the week—plus an additional fantasy thrown in to enhance your Saturday morning lie-in.

On Show

As the first of the ties was attached to her ankles, Pippa still wasn’t sure what had broken inside her.

The moment she’d walked through the door to work that evening and seen the spreader board waiting for its next customer, her iron will had caved in. Now, as her body was pushed against the cold wood, it felt more alive than ever before.

Her mind, however, was in terrified freefall. She was about to become part of the image that haunted her, the one that gave her sleepless nights and erotic dreams, that featured so strongly in her head whenever she was having sex; the one she was afraid of, and so utterly and totally turned on by.

The jeering from the crowd which had gathered around Pippa petered into a reverend hush. She could see a queue forming out of the corner of her eye, but she didn’t dare look directly at it. All she could concentrate on was the warm nimble male hands that’d smoothed her skin as they’d stripped her, and were now securing the last of her limbs to the portable x-shaped board, which had been wheeled into the centre of the room.

With her ankles and wrists encased in short metal chains, locked with little room to manoeuvre against the heavy oak frame, Pippa felt vulnerable, sexy, excited, and petrified all at once.

Keeping her green eyes lowered, she moved her wrists a fraction, testing the bonds. Her long ginger hair fell over her eyes. Being unable to sweep it back from her face abruptly bought home just how helpless she was, and her already fast pulse tripled its pace in tense anticipation of what was going to happen to her over the following hour.

The only way to escape from the spreader was to say the password that had been whispered to her when the confinement began. She’d never heard anyone use the escape password, and she was determined not to be the first to wimp out despite the panic swirling in her gut. Pippa kept reminding herself how badly she needed to know what it was like to be the subject of so much erotic attention. She couldn’t see any other way of ending the dreams that plagued her night after night and day after day…

****

You can read the rest of the story in A Kink a Day- Book Three.

Don’t forget you can find all four books from the series here – https://www.smashwords.com/books/byseries/35498

Happy reading

Kay xx

SMASHWORDS SALE!

The Smashwords Sale is now on!

 

 

 

Nearly all my ebooks are involved- and they are all HALF PRICE, except for

THE FIFTH FLOOR ,  which has 75% OFF!!

 

Grab the complete series of The Perfect Submissive…

… and the entire A Kink a Day series.

 

 

 

Not to mention some sexy word action from The Collector and Wednesday on Thursday  & more!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

SALE ends 31st July!

Enjoy!

Happy reading,

Kay xx

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