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The Best Time!

I don’t know about you, but I’ve certainly been waiting for the Best! The Best of Kay Jaybee, that is. And now the waiting is over. The Queen of BDSM herself, is here to tell us all about her new release.

I can’t quite believe how much has happened in the last few months! A new novel (Making Him Wait, Sweetmeats Press), a re-launched book (The Collector, Austin & Macauley), and now The Best of Kay Jaybee is out- A collection of my very own- I can’t quite believe it!!

It’s all SO exciting!!!

The wondrous KD has invited me along today to give you a tasty taster of one of the fourteen stories- here’s the blurb to start with!

Fourteen of the very best erotic tales of dominance, submission, bondage, and romantic lust, are delivered with lashings of kink from the pen of Kay Jaybee. From the sexual adventures recalled by a woman as she stares at her favourite shirt, to a deliciously dirty orgy on a bed of cardboard boxes, the after-hours education of a rookie soldier, and the bizarre obsession of an Egyptologist, each story shows why Kay Jaybee has been hailed as ‘a master of the craft of erotica’ (Oysters and Chocolate). As a girl writes messages of lust on the body of her best friend’s lover, and a mistress’s employment of ropes and chains on her slave co-insides with the application of emulsion, we discover just how Kay has earned her reputation for producing ‘super-heated kinky stories,’ (Kd Grace), which are ‘a sublime pleasure to read’ (Violet Blue). 

****

So which of the fourteen tales do I share with you? A touch of erotic romance, a threesome, some BDSM kink…? Decisions decisions…

How about some museum erotica…Egyptology department I think…

Bastet

Before he got the job behind the scenes at the museum, he had imagined that the place would be dusty, dark and perhaps, considering the contents of the room, eerie. This was not the case.

These carefully collected items had finished their time amongst the dust and now lived in a spotless, sanitised environment. The lighting was just bright enough to be able to work by, yet not bright enough to damage the precious remains. There were only two things that he found mildly uncomfortable about the working conditions; the first was the temperature, a constant tepid, which was too hot in the summer and freezing cold in the winter. The second was his boss.

He was aware that she often watched him. If they’d worked anywhere else, then perhaps he would have been worried about what their colleagues would think, but here it was just the two of them. Just him, his boss, an open stone sarcophagus, two mummies in the final preparations of being made ready for display, several priceless bronze statutes, some chipped but irreplaceable Canopic jars, and drawer after drawer of miniature Egyptian statues; votive offerings to the Ancient dead.

There was something very cat-like about his senior colleague. She was as tall as he was, slim, but with a hardness about her; she had slick black hair, which swung from side to side as her feline body moved around the room. No, that was wrong, she didn’t move, she slunk, she glided. Her eyes, a brilliant green, were wide, shiny, and always accentuated by heavy black kohl. At first he’d wondered if she used false colour contacts, but had a feeling she probably didn’t. Perhaps she’d always been like this, or maybe ten years amongst Egyptian paraphernalia had turned her into a living representation of the cats that ancient race venerated so highly.

He shook himself out of his thoughts, and concentrated on carefully revealing the latest object to be leant to the museum for the forthcoming ‘Ancient Death’ exhibition, before he could head home. A mountain of polystyrene chips quickly removed, he donned a pair of thin medical gloves to pull out the hidden contents of the crate.

As he bent to put his hands carefully around the unknown item, he could feel her behind him. She never made any noise when she moved, but he knew that she was there by the warm breath that now tickled the back of his neck. Ignoring her, and the rather confusing and frustrating semi-aroused state her presence seemed to keep him in, he carefully uncovered the muslin clothes that provided the exhibit’s final layer of protection.

They both gasped in wonder as he revealed the beautiful treasure that lay before them. Carved from wood, its paint faded, but not gone, a death mask stared back at them. He’d never seen anything like it, for it was not the mask of a boy or a man, but of a cat. Human sized, the mask represented the cat goddess, Bastet.

His boss stretched out a thin-gloved hand and stroked the mask with a single finger, before sliding her body in front of his. Audibly holding her breath, she took a firm hold of the artefact with both hands and heaved, releasing it fully from the travelling box. It was perfect. Light but sturdy, its back strap complete, a priceless tribute to a forgotten goddess.

Despite knowing a great deal about Ancient Egypt, but for the fact that cats were sacred to them, he knew few details about their feline obsession. His boss, her chest visibly heaving beneath her black, skin-tight top, began to whisper in awe, half talking to him, half to the mask itself.

‘I’ve seen smaller versions of these in bronze, and I know that wooden cat coffins were regularly made, many hundreds were found at Bubastis, the biggest centre of cat worship, but I’ve never seen …’ Her husky voice trailed off and her eyes sparkled. This object, this rare find was actually turning her on; he could see her nipples poke out and harden beneath her top as she handled the rare find.

Even before she did it, he knew what was going to happen next. He turned so he could watch her as, with an uncharacteristic disregard for preservation, she placed the mask over her head, trapping her sleek hair beneath its wooden strap. Dropping to her knees, she purred around his feet, rubbing her arched back against his legs as if she was a cat showing affection.

His mouth went dry. Common sense told him that the situation was insane, but curiosity and the erection that dug against the side of his trousers, told him that he needed to see what she’d do next.

She stood and, from beneath the mask, commanded him to remain exactly where he was. He didn’t move as she prowled over to the large cupboard at the back of the room.

When she reappeared a few moments later, she was naked but for the mask. Gulping at the sight of the firm flesh about which he’d often fantasized he stared. She seemed to glow as she stalked towards him, her prey, every inch the cat goddess. The living Bastet.

He felt clumsy, unworthy and, at a signal from his boss, he knelt before her, humbled and wanting. It no longer felt mad, just incredibly sexy.

She circled around him three times, muttering words he didn’t understand, his eyes following her, his lips now moist, hungry to feast on this extraordinary figure.

‘Follow,’ she commanded as she walked away from him, towards the large wooden table they used to examine, preserve and analyse the historical artefacts that came their way. He went to stand, but a sharp gesture from her hand made it clear that he was supposed to crawl after her.

This was so new to him; he’d never subjugated himself before a woman, before anyone. It felt strange, suffocating, and belittling, yet at the same time, oddly liberating, as if the pressure of taking control and ensuring the woman’s pleasure had been lifted from his shoulders.

He reached the area of the polished tile floor by the table and waited, subservient. She crouched down and tilted his head up with a single finger so he could observe her. Her bronzed skin shone with a gloss that radiated under the artificial lights. Her hands, their slim fingers topped off with turquoise nail varnish, began to fondle her breasts and caress her torso, stopping short of her neatly trimmed pussy hair, she teased herself as well as her waiting slave.

With an effort, made plain by the whimper the mask failed to hide, she halted her self-stimulation and placed her hands on her hips. ‘Dog, you will serve me.’

Dog? He was a dog? It hadn’t occurred to him, but surely dogs had been powerful gods in Egypt as well, Anubis for example. Then he remembered, even the God of the Dead could not harm a living cat. For a split second he decided he didn’t want to play her bizarre game anymore, but then she changed his mind…

If you fancy finding out what happens next, or seeing what other stories are buried in the e-pages of The Best of Kay Jaybee, then you can buy it on Amazon UK and Amazon US.

Amazon UK

Amazon US

You can find further details of this anthology, and all my other novels, novellas, and story collections at my web site- www.kayjaybee.me.uk

A huge thank you to KD for inviting me to her superb site!

Kay xxx

 

 

The Story Behind In His House of Submission by Justine Elyot

The Story Behind The Story

 

It’s a pleasure to have back as my guest on The Story Behind the Story one of my very favourite writers and an all-around fab person, Justine Elyot. Welcome back, Justine!

 

Consuming Passions?

Here I am, taking shameless advantage of K D’s hospitality again, with a Mischief Petite Novel to tell you about.

It’s October now and the leaves are on the ground, but for this story we have to revisit the summer. I hope yours was a good one. Sarah’s certainly was.

In His House of Submission, history graduate Sarah Wells has taken a summer job archiving the antique treasures at the substantial home of famous film director, Jasper Jay. From the start, they have a shared passion – they both love things that have a past.

That’s not the only interest they have in common either, as Sarah soon finds out when she stumbles across his vast collection of BDSM paraphernalia.

Are the passions that bind them together strong enough to withstand other forces in their lives that conspire to keep them apart, though? Here’s an excerpt:

I presented myself for breakfast in the kitchen in my usual long skirt and top-and-scarf combo. He stopped me before I sat down and asked me to show him my underwear.

I almost asked why, but checked myself in time. Instead, I silently pulled up my top and then lifted my skirt, my pulse racing. Despite the soreness below, I felt ready to take more of him, tingling with the shameful joy of submission.

‘Too much,’ he said. ‘Go upstairs and take it off. You aren’t going to need underwear for the next six weeks. Unless I ask you to wear it. Go on, then.’ He waved the spatula at me. I could imagine that being quite a useful spanking implement.

When I came back down, he beckoned me over to the counter, where he was buttering toast. With his other hand, he felt my breasts through the thin cotton top, rubbing at my nipples until they stood out through the fabric, bullet-hard and unmistakable. When that was done to his satisfaction, he lifted my skirt and checked for the presence of knickers. Finding none, he rewarded me with a luscious, filthy, grope-filled snog.

‘Sit down,’ he said, sliding eggs on to the toast before sorting out more coffee. ‘But you have to raise your skirt. I want your bare bottom touching the seat. And you can lift up your top too. And keep your legs wide apart.’

Sitting like that, with my top bunched over the top of my breasts and my thighs split while the varnished wooden seat chilled my bare bum, I couldn’t escape the reality of my submission. It was profound and absolute, and it was going to touch every aspect of my daily life.

Jasper watched me, smiling slyly, as he dug into his breakfast. I could barely touch mine, my appetite killed by the overwhelming presence of sex in the air around me, touching my skin, feeding itself into me.

‘Eat up,’ he said, pointing at my plate with his knife. ‘You need it, girl. I’ve plans for you.’

It was an order. I had to obey.

I made a decent attempt at eating my eggs, but the toast stuck in my throat. The coffee didn’t help, so strong it gave me jitters. I spilled a drop and it landed on my nipple, making me gasp and almost make a sound. But I managed not to.

Jasper tutted and dabbed my nipple with some kitchen roll, for much longer than was strictly necessary. Then he kissed it better.

Dropping down between my knees, he had a good long look at my widespread pussy, prodding at it until I winced.

‘That’s a well-fucked pussy,’ he diagnosed. ‘Swollen and red, it is. I think we’ll have to take it a bit easy today. But there are lots of things we can do that don’t involve the old in-out. Aren’t there?’

He raised flashing eyes to me.

I bit my lip and made a gesture intended to convey the phrase, ‘You tell me.’

He smiled. ‘So much to learn.’

 

If you want to know what Sarah learns from – and teaches – Jasper, here’s some more information.

Justine Elyot His House of SubmissionHe’s a collector with some kinky interests on the side. She’s here to catalogue his possessions. But will she end up being one of them?

Sarah turns up at Jasper Jay’s country house thinking she has been hired to make an inventory of his large collection of historical artefacts. But when she and her lover, Will, are caught by the boss sneaking a peek at some of his more private pieces, she starts to suspect an ulterior motive. Alone with Jasper Jay in his secluded manor, Sarah finds herself enthralled by the enigmatic collector, especially given the intimate interest she shares with him. Pretty soon, they’re entangled in an intense relationship of domination and submission that excludes the rest of the world. Until it intrudes, in the form of a vengeful Will, bent on exposing everything his erstwhile boss has worked so hard to keep secret.

It’s available right now in all the best e-formats from Mischief Books: http://www.mischiefbooks.com/books/his-house-submission/

Thanks to KD for having me again! And thanks to everyone for reading.

 

Finding Wood

Autumn is right on the door step, the days are getting shorter, so in honour of the summer we almost had this year in Britain, here’s the third, and final installment to my filthy fun al fresco extravaganza, K D style. The great outdoors has always inspired me to write all manner of naughtiness. And nothing is more deliciously naughty in the summer heat that a little skinny dipping, especially when it’s done with just the right companion. This hot little excerpt is from my novel, The Pet Shop, which just goes to show sometimes you can’t see the forest for the Pets. Enjoy!

Blurb:

In appreciation for a job well done, STELLA JAMES’s boss sends her a Pet for the weekend – a human Pet. The mischievous TINO comes straight from THE PET SHOP complete with a collar, a leash, and an erection. Stella soon discovers that the pleasure of keeping Pets, especially this one, is extremely addicting.

Obsessed with Tino and with the reclusive philanthropist, VINCENT EVANSTON, who looks like Tino, but couldn’t be more different, Stella is drawn into the secret world of The Pet Shop. As her animal lust awakens, Stella must walk the thin line that separates the business of pleasure from the more dangerous business of the heart or suffer the consequences.

Excerpt:

Stella fumbled with the spare pare of binoculars Vanguard had lent her, giving herself a hearty knock on the nose before she managed to get them focused. Her stomach did a flip-flop, then a pirouette. Even with her unsteady hand and the thud-thud of her heart making the scene tremble in front of her eyes, she knew she was looking at Tino, who was looking right back at her. She caught her breath ‘You’re sure that’s Vincent Evanston?’

‘Of course I’m sure. I’ve worked with the man often enough. Helluva naturalist.’

The butterfly dance in her stomach had moved up into her chest to do a mad mambo with her heart and suddenly she had to know. ‘Excuse me.’ She threw open the door. ‘I’m sorry but I have to go. I really need to talk to him.’

‘Wait! You can’t get out there dressed like that.’

She slammed the door on Bob’s objections and went slip-sliding across the road toward the man in the wood. Her kitten heels sunk in the pale mud with each step she took. On the other side of the road she found herself faced with a ditch full of fast-moving rainwater. It wasn’t that wide, she could have jumped it easily enough in trainers, but she wasn’t in trainers. She found purchase on a mossy rock and struggled to balance on the ball of her foot, but the rock slipped and turned beneath her sending her teetering with arms flailing before she sat down hard in the middle of the icy flow.

The gasp for breath and the high pitched yelp barely passed her lips before he was on her, grabbing her beneath the armpits and pulling her to her feet with a heavy slurp and  splorsh from her skirt, which seemed to be acting like a sponge. He half-dragged, half carried her to dry ground and plopped her down unceremoniously on a mossy log. His curled fingers lifted her chin until her eyes met Tino’s dark gaze. ‘You scared the hell out of me. Are you alright?’ Tino speaking would have been shocking enough but Tino speaking with an American accent just seemed wrong somehow. She nodded, unable to reply.

He already had his Blackberry out. ‘Bob, yes she’s fine. No, don’t worry, I’ll take care of her. Go on back to the hide.’ He slapped the blackberry back in his pocket and turned his full attention on Stella. This time it was not concern that filled his eyes.

‘What the hell were you thinking, out in the woods dressed like that?’

She was already shivering from the cold and the wet. ‘Guess the Great Outdoors isn’t my forte.’ She offered an apologetic smile.

‘Come on.’ He grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. ‘My pack’s under those trees. Let’s get you into something dry before hypothermia sets in.’ But when she stumbled and nearly twisted her ankle in her now filthy mauve shoes, he cursed under his breath and lifted her as though she were weightless, causing her to gasp surprise as he turned on his heels and headed back toward the pack.

She threw her arms around his neck and hung on tight, smelling wood smoke in his hair and on his plaid shirt, a smell that made her pussy tighten at thoughts of making love to him in the light of a campfire. They didn’t have far to go, just in the protection of the trees. There he eased her down on huge stump and thrust a steaming cup of cocoa into her hand from a flask he’d dug out of a rucksack big enough that he could have used it for a tent. ‘Drink this. It’ll help warm you till I can sort out something dry for you to wear.’ He turned his broad back to her and began to dig through the pack.

She was trembling hard enough that is was an effort not to spill the cocoa. ‘You’re Tino, aren’t you?’ She spoke between chattering teeth.

His back stiffened slightly, then relaxed again as he continued to dig. ‘I’m Vincent.’

She sat the cup down next to her and hugged her arms around her shivering body. ‘I know you’re Vincent, Vincent Evanston, but you’re Tino. I mean he’s you, isn’t he?’

He turned on her, grabbing her shoulders so quickly that she feared he would shake her. Instead, he began to chafe her arms, his dark eyes locked on hers. ‘I told you, Tino’s not here.’

‘But I — ’

He swallowed up her words in an open-mouth kiss, taking her breath away, taking away her ability to think with the heat of it, the expressive depth of it. He bit her lip as he pulled back, still holding her gaze. ‘Tino’s not here,’ he repeated. His voice held the tiniest edge of warning. Then, as though it were business as usual, he bent and removed her shoes. ‘You’re lucky you didn’t break an ankle in these.’ He tossed them onto the ground and wiped his muddy hands on his trousers. ‘Afraid I don’t have an extra pair of shoes with me. Now lift your butt.’

‘What?’

He nodded to a non-descript wad of clothing now sharing her stump. ‘It’s not elegant, but it’s dry, now lift your butt. Or,’ the weight of his gaze was nearly physical, causing her heart to hammer and jerk like it was trying to get closer to him, or maybe run away from him, ‘if you’d rather I can turn my back and let you do it.’

She released her breath slowly and lifted her arse off the stump, an act, that in itself seemed lewd. He pushed open her jacket with warm hands and shoved up the edge of her silk blouse to unzip her skirt, exposing a swath of her belly just above her navel. Then he curled his fingers around the waist of the skirt, catching the elastic of her knickers as well, and shimmied both down over her hips. His hands skimmed the lacy tops of her hold ups, and for a second, she forgot about the cold. She reached out and raked her fingers through his unruly hair.

His breath caught in his chest, and he lowered his head to plant a warm kiss just below her navel, lips burning on her icy skin. Then he pulled away all businesslike. You’ll get hypothermia. You’re cold.’ The rush of his hot breath brushed her belly, causing goose flesh to tiptoe up her spine.

She had little control over the trembling that gripped her body from the cold, and yet her insides squirmed with want as he inched the skirt down over her thighs leaving her hold-ups in place. ‘Please,’ she gasped between chattering teeth. How could she be so damn cold and so hot at the same time. ‘I need…I need.’

‘I know what you need.’ His voice was tight, accented by the heavy drag of his breath, much heavier than the expended efforts demanded. His dark eyes were clouded with a cocktail of emotions too complex for her to translate in her discomfort, but there had to be some anger and maybe some concern in the mix. The second kiss chased the descent of her skirt, lighting fast and humid on the apex of her gash searing hot against the damp chill of goose flesh, just above the place where her clit roused itself from beneath its hood. The delicious steamy shock of it unbalanced her and she dropped back onto the stump, her bottom settling into soft moss and her elbow sending the cocoa cup clattering into the fragrant pine straw.

He dragged her skirt down and shoved at it as though it had offended him somehow until it was in a heap around her ankles. Then he eased her left leg free, lifted it so her foot rested on his shoulder splaying her crotch for his hungry gaze. ‘I’m wet,’ she sighed.

‘You fell in a ditch.’ His fingers traced a ticklish path up the inside of her thigh above the hold-ups.

She squirmed and arched her back. ‘That’s not what I mean.’

‘I know what you mean.’ Hi words were short, clipped. He slid a thick finger between her heavy folds causing a sharp intake of breath. Then he rose to take her mouth again, forcing her leg forward, knee bent to press her thigh against her breasts making her pussy gape like a begging bird, making her bare down into the pillow of moss. ‘Please,’ she gasped. ‘I need … ’

He held her in his weighty gaze. ‘I know what you need,’ he repeated. With his free hand, he fought his trousers like they were the enemy until they were down around his hips, and in her peripheral vision she could just make out his heavy penis straining toward her before he pushed into her with a grunt sending shock waves up through her at the sudden invasion that filled her too full for comfort, yet felt way too good to be pain.

He gathered her to him and began to thrust. There was no preamble, no foreplay, just driving hungry need. She hooked her legs around him and held on for dear life, growling and grinding, feeling like she would split in two with the each pounding. And yet she wanted nothing more than to live for the next thrust. It was as though her whole world contacted to thrusting and shoving and trembling. She was freezing and burning and grasping, and he was pushing her, more quickly than she would have ever imagined, to complete overload.

The Pistoning of his body raked the swell of her clit raw as he drew nearer his release. And when at last he overwhelmed her, she threw back her head and howled as her orgasm raged like fire melting ice. Only a split second later he convulsed and jerked on top of her.

For a few minutes they lay sprawled on the stump together catching their breath. Then, at last he pulled out, and it was as though nothing had happened. Avoiding her gaze, he cleaned them both with the large blue bandana he’d been wearing around his neck, then he tossed her a pair of grey track suit bottoms with a draw string. ‘Put these on. We need to get you someplace warm.’ He packed up his rucksack while she struggled into the bottoms, then he threw her a hooded sweatshirt. He tossed her muddy shoes into a waterproof bag and shoved it in the top of rucksack, just before he hoisted it onto his back. Then he lifted her in his arms again.

‘What are you doing?’ She breathed. ‘You can’t carry me to your house.’

He nodded behind him as a dark blue Jeep pulled up and parked inconspicuously by the side of the road, not far from where she had tried to cross. ‘I have no intention of carrying you to my house. George will take you back to your hotel.’

 

Spanking Good Advice

I’ve always felt like spanking is a gateway to kink, and with the Fifty Shades of Grey craze, more and more people are interested in that gateway. With that in mind, I’ve asked the Sh!’s lovely manager, Renee Denyer, to talk a bit about spanking and why it’s such an appealing part of kinky bedroom fun. Welcome Renee!

KD: Renee, why do you think people are drawn to spanking in sex?

RENEE: Spanking is a bit naughty, and it feels good. The person doing the spanking (the Top) gets to feel dominant and sexy, and the person on the receiving end (the Bottom) gets to feel GREAT. A good spanking ensures that the brain releases rushes of endorphins, the body’s natural pain killers. This feels amazing and can be a bit addictive!

KD: What would you say are the top four rules to remember when including spanking in sex play?

RENEE: As the top, you are responsible for the wellbeing of your bottom. Always agree on a safeword before a scene (play) starts. Some people use two, actually. One that means ‘ease up a bit’ and one that means ‘STOP NOW’. A safeword must be something that you wouldn’t normally use during sex, like ‘celery.’ This avoids any confusion. Honour safewords absolutely.

I.     Choose your implement/s wisely. Does your partner object to marks? If so, long, narrow instruments are out. Does your partner want pain or just pleasure? Spanking doesn’t have to be about pain; it could be just a cheeky li’l threat of possibilities.

II.     Spank only safe areas of the body like buttocks, thighs and top of arms. Practice your aim on pillows so you’re sure you’re aim is spot-on. Also, always test the implement on the inside of your arm, or on your thigh, so you know what you’re dishing out!

III.     Take your time. Pain threshold rises in correlation with arousal, so the more turned on your bottom is, the more he/she can take!

IV.     Responsibly close the scene when you think the bottom has had enough. End your play by lavishing loving aftercare on your partner.

KD:  I’m sorry, but I just have to ask; have you seen an increase in the number of people interested in spanking with the advent of Fifty Shades of Grey?

RENEE: Oh God, yes! Sales of ball gags are up by a massive 400%! Sales of spanking equipment and luv-balls have increased too. It seems everyone’s at it! 50 Shades has been amazing for sales. Couples are opening up to each other, talking about fantasies and what they’d like to try. It’s great

KD: Other than the good old human hand, what do you find to be the most popular spanking tool?

RENEE: You can use pretty much anything that’s a good shape and size, like a wooden spoon or a plastic ruler. Of course, I’m a huge fan of fancy whips and paddles, but you don’t really need to buy anything to get started. You probably have something useful lying around at home, like a big, flat hairbrush!

KD: If I were a newbie coming into Sh! with my partner, wanting to learn more about how to include spanking in our sex life, what would you tell us?

RENEE: I’d say that the two of you need to have a conversation about do’s and don’ts. Power play can bring up buried feelings in a person that may have suffered abused in the past, so it’s really important to negotiate no-go-areas, such as verbal abuse, before play starts.

I always recommend starting off by getting the bottom to grade each blow from 1 (way too soft) to 10 (way too hard). That way you’ll know when to amp it up or slow it down. Personally, I would very rarely go above an 8; that way I ensure my bottom has a great time and feels a little bit stretched in what he/she is able to take without pushing it too far.

KD: In what ways, if any, do you think spanking can enhance couples’ sex life?

RENEE: It offers release, and you can do a bit of play acting if you want. You might want to be a sexy dominatrix for an hour or two, or your partner may want to be a strict housemaster who needs to discipline a naughty student. Pretending to be other people (for a short while, anyway) can really spice things up in the bedroom.

KD: I’m very curious; which spanking implements are your most popular, and do you have a favourite?

RENEE: The hand crop makes a great sound when slapped against bare skin, and is so easy to handle; it’s perfect for newbies:

http://www.sh-womenstore.com/Sensual+Pleasures/FetiSh!/Whips+%252526+Crops/Crop_Handy_Bat.html

The heart-shaped paddle is probably our most sensual product (comes in leather or luxury suede). You paddle the bum with the leather (or suede) side, then turn the paddle over and ‘stoke it better’ with the faux fur on the other side… Deliciously exquisite pleasure!

http://www.sh-womenstore.com/Sensual+Pleasures/FetiSh!/Sh!+Spankers/Luxury+Spankers/Luxury_Heart_Spanker_Hot_Pink.html

I have two favourites; the cute paddle with a row of pink hearts and the two-tailed whip.

This paddle leave a row of hearts imprinted on the ass. How could one not love that? My own actually hangs on the door handle into my bedroom, ready for action..!

http://www.sh-womenstore.com/Sensual+Pleasures/FetiSh!/Whips+%252526+Crops/Heart_Paddle.html

The two-tailed leather whip can be used really sensually and softly, or hard and fast for a powerful whack!

http://www.sh-womenstore.com/Sensual+Pleasures/FetiSh!/Whips+%252526+Crops/double_whip_purple.html

KD: I’ve been to a couple of Sh! spanking classes. Suffice to say I had so much fun that one was just not enough. And I was wondering if you could, in a few sentences, talk my readers through what they could expect, besides a nice glass of fizz, in a typical spanking class.

RENEE: There’d be a Sh! Girl ‘Top’ (like me) and a Sh! Girl who doesn’t mind getting spanked at work *wink*. We’ll talk about safety, we’ll look at various implements and how to use them, and we’ll do a demonstration. Guests can join in if they want. They usually do! But it’s perfectly ok to just watch.

All our classes are fully dressed, so you needn’t worry about having to bare your bum!

Link to classes:

http://www.sh-womenstore.com/Erotic+Classes.htm

KD: Thanks for stopping by, Renee! It’s always a pleasure to have you on A Hopeful Romantic.

 

The Fully-formed Birth of Vina Jackson

After some IT glitches and a two-day game of email tag, it’s my pleasure to welcome the multi-facetted Vina Jackson, author of the exciting new erotic romance Eighty Days Yellow to a Hopeful Romantic.

As I write, EIGHTY DAYS YELLOW by Vina Jackson is no 6 on the Sunday Times bestseller list and has been in the top ten for the last three weeks.

But if a computer hadn’t engineered for two total strangers to sit quite by chance on opposite seats on a train from London to the provinces, John Grisham’s new novel might be no 6 instead and, worse, Vina Jackson would not exist at all!

Fate certainly moves in mysterious ways.

Vina Jackson is actually two writers, writing together under a pseudonym.  Yet until a few months ago we had never even met.

It all began when one of us was invited to attend a literary festival outside London, while the other decided to attend at short notice and purchased a ticket, on the recommendation of a friend.

So, on a very early Saturday morning as winter was turning into spring, both of us arrived at Euston station, with tickets booked online, only to find a train which was at best barely 10% full and our allocated seats facing each other while the rest of the carriage barely housed half a dozen other travellers. Any of us could have moved elsewhere in the carriage to enjoy more privacy, but then this is Britain and we all probably felt it would be rude to do so.

For hours we all sat together, respectively reading, daydreaming, listening to music on iPods or eating, saying not a word to one another only to discover, several hours afterwards at the literary festival while drinking the welcoming coffee, that the three of us that had all been grouped together by the bookings computer were attending the same event… and had all taken separate taxis from the station.

Several weeks later one of us contacted the other for some professional advice and thus two strangers who had met by chance on a train began emailing regularly.

We were both writers with a penchant for racey romance, and in passing one of us mentioned an unusual story about an antique violin that they’d read in a newspaper. Perverse minds think alike and we both thought there was a stub of an idea for a novel there, ready to be written. And then we moved on to other matters, stories to write, lives to live, other things to do.

A few months passed and the idea to write a novel together  kept bubbling away so we decided to meet up at London’s Groucho Club and later exchanged ideas and suggestions over meals in Chinatown.  And it was then that we agreed to write four opening chapters, in alternate voices, and to then send it to a literary agent to see if there was anything there to interest a publisher.

We came up with the character of the violin player busking in the Tube and the university professor who is captivated by her playing and we improvised some way they could meet. Thus Summer and Dominik were born. And so was Vina Jackson. Along with a proposal and several sample chapters for two novels, featuring their adventures in the world of sex and BDSM.

The literary agent Sarah Such loved the material and signed us up, submitting to London publishing houses within a few days. And overnight the first offers began coming in. As the level of interest grew, so did the size of the offers as well as the suggestion that it could even make a trilogy. So Vina Jackson agreed to write a third volume, and soon a six-figure deal was done with the wonderful folk at Orion.

By then, of course, the collected works of E.L. James were weaving their magic on the bestseller lists and Orion suggested we could maybe write all three books in 3 months. Vina didn’t protest too much and agreed, to ensure the trilogy would be published within weeks of delivery of the respective manuscripts, and catch the zeitgeist.

The first volume EIGHTY DAYS YELLOW was published in early August, and its sequels EIGHTY DAYS BLUE and EIGHTY DAYS RED are out in September and October. It will soon be published in the USA by Open Road Media and so far has sold translation rights in ten territories, including Germany, France, Italy and Japan.

It was never meant to rival Fifty Shades of Grey, as neither of us have even read it! But we did want to write a strong erotic romance, with believable characters and non-stop action, which we hope is well-written and entertaining. And that you enjoy reading the EIGHTY DAYS trilogy.

Meanwhile beware who you sit opposite next time you take a train.  You may end up writing a racey romance trilogy with a complete stranger…

Blurb:

Caught in a frustrating relationship with a man who can’t accept her for who she is, passionate, flame-haired violinist Summer finds release in her music. She spends her afternoons busking on the underground, lost in the works of Vivaldi or Mendelssohn. When her violin is damaged beyond repair, Summer receives a surprising proposition from Dominik, a university professor with powerful desires, who has been captivated by Summer ever since he heard her perform. Dominik will replace her priceless violin, but only if she agrees to play for him in a private concert.

Unable to deny the chemistry between them, Dominik and Summer embark on an intense affair full of daring twists and turns, as unpredictable as it is thrilling. For Summer it is a chance to finally embrace her long-denied dark side, but she’ll soon learn that where there’s pleasure must come pain. And can a relationship born of such all-consuming passion, ever really survive?

Exhilarating, seductive and tantalisingly bold, EIGHTY DAYS is a love story that will leave you breathless for more.

Buy Eighty Days Yellow here:

eBook:

Amazon.co.uk

Amazon.com

Print:

Amazon.co.uk

Amazon.com (pre-order)

 

 

 

 
© 2018 K D Grace
The Romance Reviews

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