• Home
  • Posts Tagged'inspiration'
  • Page 10

Posts Tagged ‘inspiration’

The Grand Tour of A Very Full Room

writing image 2Every year I mention my fascination with the last week of the year, and 2012 is no exception. The last week isn’t like the rest. It’s almost like there are actually fifty-one weeks in the year, then there’s the crowded room at the end, a place not unlike my grandmother’s living room was, all crowded full of the bits and pieces and memorabilia of eighty-three years of living.

The last week of the year is a mini version of that living room, a mental version, a room that everyone has in their head, no matter how expansive the previous fifty-one weeks have been, this final week is the tiny space into which we crowd everything that’s happened in the past year. Then we settle in to the one comfy chair in that room that isn’t avalanching with memories and emotions, and we reflect.

It’s that time again, the last day in our overly crowded room of 2012. We have to enjoy it now while we can because we only have until midnight on 31st December, and then we’ll have to leave this room, lock the door behind us, never to return, and walk into the brand new huge empty room of 2013.

IMG00329-20120523-0945I’d like to take you on a very brief tour of my crowded room because I’m taking one last inventory of Room 2012, and what a crowded room it is! Careful there, don’t trip over all the gardening tools, and can you just step over that bag of compost. Yep, this was the year we got the allotment, weeds, rickety blue garden shed, asparagus patch and all. Hey, yoohoo! I’m over here, squished in the corner behind the four novels, one novella and three short stories. Yep, that’s me! I know, I know, I look a bit tired. Well it has been one of the most challenging years ever, so that’s not terribly surprising. There’s somewhere in the neighbourhood of 450,000 words in all those pages! Oh and then there was all the blog posts, and you know me. I’m noted for being pretty wordy.

That’s it, that’s it, careful there, just squeeze past the telly and around the stack of old Metro Holly 9 July 2012newspapers. 2012 was the year I made my first ever national television appearance on channel 5 news, thanks to the popularity of Fifty Shades of Grey and the wild popularity of the eBook reader. I almost didn’t get there after being sent to the wrong studio, then being stuffed into a cab to get across London in twenty minutes before show time. What an adventure that was! I also got to be on the radio with Phil Rickman. I love radio. It’s still titillates the imagination for me. And then there were newspapers! Wow, I had mug shots and everything! The Daily Express even sent a photographer and a make-up artist so they could capture the smutter in her natural environment.

Careful there, don’t knock over the pile of used train tickets and hotel receipts. It took me ages to get them stacked that neatly. 2012 was packed with readings and launches and adventures in London. And then there were the talks in the libraries in the Midlands! That was definitely one of the highlights of my writing year. The Initiation of Ms Holly was chosen by the wonderful Between the Sheets Project, as one of the top 30 erotica books to be included on the shelves in public libraries in the UK. Between the Sheets was a month-long celebration of erotica including a website and blog and talks by erotica writers in libraries around the UK. I felt like I was a part of history being made. And when Kay Jaybee and I went to speak in the Dudley area libraries near Birmingham, we were bowled over by the excitement and the enthusiasm for erotica and by the wonderful hospitality of the people from the Black Country.

This was the year I became another person. Everyone knows K D Grace writes very naughty erotica. But this was the year when I decided romance should come to the forefront, and Xcite agreed with me. That being the case, Grace Marshall made her debut with romance served hot, and the first course was An Executive Decision, book one of the Executive Decisions Trilogy, which was released in September and very well received, so well in fact that Xcite asked me to hurry on with the rest of the trilogy. That’s what I’ve been up to since the middle of October. The second book, Identity Crisis, has just been finished and is due to make its appearance early in 2013, and book three, The Exhibition, won’t be far behind.

ExecDecisions Banner1

This was the year we got our allotment. Yes I know, I mentioned that, but since you keep tripping over garden tools and you noticed the freezer full of our over-abundant runner bean harvest, I thought I’d bring it up again. The plot we were allotted in April was about four, maybe five times our entire back garden and it was well-grown with weeds. We still managed a lovely crop of sweet corn, cabbage, French and runner beans and courgettes. And there was asparagus!

IMG00466-20121101-1054I can’t recall a year that I’ve ever worked so hard, and even with all of the excitement and the adventure I’ve never had a year that I’ve suffered so much from self-doubt, some of that, I’m sure, came from the stress of writing four novels as two different authors in one year, plus a 40 thousand word novella. This was a year that tested me and stretched me in ways I could have never imagined at the beginning, when I first walked into this room of 2012, back when it was the empty room. Now, as I reflect, I’m amazed that one year could contain so very, very much, and there’s so much more I could share with you, but really, I’m looking forward to the tour of YOUR crowded 2012!

For me, sales are good and the response to my work has been overwhelmingly positive, and I’m already excited about the projects that are ahead of me. As I look back at this very full room of 2012, I feel like the luckiest woman on the planet.

I spend my days doing what I love most, writing stories. I spend my evenings and nights with a man who loves me and is very supportive of my work. I’m surrounded by wonderful colleagues and friends, who encourage me and empathise with me and share the excitement, and I live in one of the most beautiful places in the world. I already know some of the fun I can expect in 2013, and it will include at least two more novels; the third of The Executive Decisions novels and, at long last, a sequel to The Initiation of Ms Holly. There are also some schemes and plans I’m not quite ready to share yet, but I will definitely be crowing about them when the time comes. Oh yes, I’m going to have great fun filling the empty room of 2013. The key is already twitching in my hand!

Ultimately though, it doesn’t matter if we’re sitting reflecting on all that fills our individual 2012 room, or if we’re frantically trying to fill it still  December Sunset after first hard frostfuller; at midnight tonight, we’ll all take a deep breath, open the door and walk out into the empty room waiting for us in 2013. All we’ll take with us is our memories of the room we left and our hopes for how we’ll fill this bright new room that stretches promisingly before us. Some of us make New Years resolutions, some of us just plow in without a plan of action, but one thing is for certain, this time next year, if we live that long, we’ll be sitting in the full room again reflecting on how the experiences of 2013 have shaped us, anticipating how we’ll take the experiences into the next empty room.

My wish for you is that your reflections in your full room be good ones, satisfying ones. And at the stroke of midnight, that you will enter that bright new empty room with hope and joy and anticipation of how wonderfully you’ll fill it up.

 

Another One Rides the Bus

This time of year everything is decorated with brightly coloured tinsel and fairy lights, Christmas music blares from every shop and every street corner and the town centres are transformed to a hive of frenetic activity. On the other hand the days are short and the nights are long, the weather is bleak and the natural world seems dead all around us. All that hurts, all that aches, all that’s raw stands out in stark contrast against the bright lights and frenzy. Sometimes though, there are moments that break through the tinsel and the music and the commercialism, moments that stand out as true magic in the space between the celebrations and the sorrow.

12340460-urban-sketch-sign-with-image-bus-stop-and-manI had one of those moments yesterday. I was coming home from town and the downpour that had started about the time I left the house had me drenched to the skin. The wind was just strong enough to make my umbrella worthless. I decided to take the bus home. Sadly, as is often the case when the weather’s bad, the busses were late and the one I usually take was broken down, so I knew it would be at least three quarters of an hour before another one arrived. I decided to take a bus that has a similar rout, if a little circuitous, one I’d never taken before. Bus number 10 was filled by the overflow from the busses that had been delayed or just not come at all, and the poor driver was a bearded man who looked slightly panicked. There was good reason for his nerves. He had just finished his training and because there was some shortage of drivers, he suddenly found himself thrown in at the deep end, driving a route with which he was unfamiliar, one that took him through some of the most narrow, winding streets of town.

I nearly got off and in favour of braving the rain and walking on home anyway, but I stayed, perched on the edge of my seat, wondering if I’d made a mistake. The first bit of the journey was through the main streets, so that was easy enough, even for the newbie driver. But as he headed off into the bowels of the town on streets that were barely wide enough for a car, let alone a bus, something amazing happened. Someone up front said. ‘Just turn left here, and you’ll see the bus stop just up the road there. See it?’

The driver thanked the passenger and made the first stop. Then the road got properly narrow and I could almost hear everyone holding their breath as the poor driver maneuvered the hulk of a bus, with windows threatening to steam over, between two tight rows of cars on either side of the street. I closed my eyes and held my breath. I think I wasn’t alone in this act. But the driver had been trained well, and once we were through the obstacle course unscathed, there was a collective sigh of relief and a murmur of encouragement to the driver as another woman took up the role of satnav directing the driver to the next stop.

By this time, I had no idea where we were, as this was not my normal route. I was totally dependent on the collective navigation skills of the 10034270-london-england-dawn-breaking-over-the-city-of-westminster-with-the-clock-tower-of-big-ben-over-the-lother passengers, who were now in open conversation, guiding the driver to take a right at the next intersection, go straight to the top of the hill, then take a left, encouraging him, telling him he was doing just fine.

By the time we got to my stop, there were only a few people left on the bus and the driver’s route back to the main station was a relatively straight shot. Everyone who got off the bus thanked him and encouraged him, and I realized what I’d seen was a bright spot in a dark day. It had been a time when we could all have been grumpy and short. But everyone had to work together if anyone were to get home. And when I got off the bus back into the pouring rain, I felt a lot more cheerful and a little more immuned to the dark day.

Because busses are on my mind, I’m sharing a hot little short story with you about a bus ride with a little extra. The story is vintage KDG and shared in its entirety. Enjoy!

The Night Bus

9522133-vienna-austria--december-09-vienna--empty-bus-stop-in-viennas-first-district-by-night-on-december-09I boarded the coach and made my way toward the back squinting in the darkness.  It was the 01:30 to Zagreb coming up from Dubrovnik.  The few people already on board were contortionists attempting futilely to transform coach seats into beds.  I found a place and stowed my bag, sorry to be leaving the sea, but looking forward to time with friends in Zagreb before returning to London.  With my head leaning against the window, I watched as the village lights faded.  The man behind me groaned softly and shifted in the unforgiving seat.  His movement stirred the scent of sandalwood and something more earthy masking the prevailing odours of motor oil and stale summer sweat.

The exotic smell only enhanced my agenda for the journey.  I planned to come.  I have my reasons for travelling by coach whenever possible.  I long ago discovered that if I position my bottom just right while on a bus, I can come with no further stimulation than the vibration of the engine through the seat, a feat I can’t quite manage on any other mode of transport, though I have tried.

My favourite ‘sex with a stranger’ fantasy combined with the delectable thrumming beneath my pussy were just beginning to work their magic when I felt a hand on the back of my arm rest near the window.  Fellow travellers sometimes violate personal space in search of the ever-elusive cat-nap.  At least the man wasn’t snoring or drooling on my shoulder.  He sighed deeply and slid his arm farther up the rest between my seat and the window, between my arm and my body.  I could have pushed him away, but the heat I was already generating made his closeness intriguing.

His head now rested against the corner of the back of my seat and the window, close enough I could hear his breath. He was awake.  I struggled to keep my own breathing slow and even.  He shifted again cautiously, no doubt trying not to wake me.  I felt an almost imperceptible touch next to my T-shirt close to my ribs, a touch that made my snatch even hotter against the seat.  There he paused, perhaps for courage, then his hand migrated upward snaking hypnotically, fingers curving furtively to cup my breast.

My heart pounded in my chest, which no doubt, he could feel, and I noticed he was feeling me rather nicely.  This was too good to be true. Was I dreaming, or had fantasy suddenly become reality?  I feigned a sleepy sigh and squirmed closer allowing him easier access, rhythmically contracting the right muscles to intensify the delicious friction growing between my legs.

Brazenly he raked a thumb over my swollen nipple, which was already transmitting seismic tremors to my cunt.  I wasn’t lacking in the curve 10519350-light-trails-from-a-bus-passing-st-pauldepartment.  My breasts often got admiring glances.  They were full and heavy and very sensitive.  In fact, they were one of my favourite sex toys.  I played with them often, and the shadowy night bus was the perfect place for it.  This, however, was the first time anyone had kindly aided me in my covert self-pleasuring.

With my other hand, I reached beneath my T-shirt and tugged at the clasp of my front-loader releasing the full weight of my breasts for playtime.  Then I took the initiative, guiding my admirer’s hand and sliding it under my T-shirt until we were feeling me up together, stroking my breast and pearl-hard nipple with maddening, crotch-drenching friction.  I could imagine the overworked fly of his trousers struggling to contain him.  I could almost sense his growing urge to thrust, and I wondered if maybe he’d already released his cock into his other hand, a thought which made me even wetter.

I could feel the distended ache of my opening pressed hard against the frustration of knickers and jeans.  Desperate for more than the vibration of the engine to accompany my travelling companion’s kneadings, I was just about to undo my zipper for a more direct approach when, without warning, all stroking stopped.  He pulled away so quickly that I bit back a frustrated curse.  I wasn’t finished!  Had he come already?  Because if he had, I would strangle him.

I needn’t have worried.  There was a slight shuffling accompanied by a rush of pheromones, and the seat next to me was suddenly occupied.  I caught the flash of his eyes in the light of a passing car.  Windblown hair brushed the collar of his shirt, now untucked and unbuttoned.  I got a mouth-watering glimpse of dark nipples and pectorals above a hard slope of belly and a soft down of hair disappearing into the partially-open bulge of his jeans.  I barely managed a yummy feel before he shoved my T-shirt up, slumped in the seat and began to nurse, taking each of my tits in turn.  I gnawed my lower lip to keep from crying out, sliding my hand over his slender hip and into the back of his jeans to fondle the mounded cheeks of his ass, mesmerized as they tensed, relaxed then tensed again with my caressing.

Bashing his elbow on the seat in front of him, he grabbed my hand and guided it to his desperately straining bulge, holding me hard against him, as he tongued tight circles around my impressionable areole.  While his mouth did its magic, he opened my zipper, feeling his way adroitly inside my knickers and sliding eager fingers between the slick folds and valleys of my cunt, spreading liquid heat over my clit with experienced stroking.  What were the odds of encountering a man on the night bus who knew how to work the joy spot?

With little effort on my part, his cock practically split a seam escaping.  I cupped taut balls that felt heavy and full before he guided my 10051390-bus-stop-sign-on-post-pole-traffic-road-roadsign-blue-isolated-signagewandering hand back to his thick erection.  He tightened my grip with his own until the pressure was just what he needed, until my knuckles ached from the squeeze.  When my method was satisfactory, he rocked against me with tight, controlled thrusts, invisible in the darkness, his body pressing so hard against the seat that I feared he’d break it.  I opened my legs as far as space would allow sliding down low, wriggling until my jeans and knickers were around my hips and I could feel cool night air against my engorged pussy as I rammed myself repeatedly against the wet dance of his fingers.

I’m sure we stopped breathing completely as we rode the edge between pleasure and release until it was so thin, so taut that melt-down was inevitable.  Just as my orgasm exploded with an intensity I’m sure must have rocked the whole coach, he grunted and convulsed.  Warm, viscous semen flooded my hand and spurted the back of the seat in front of us.

It seemed as though we drifted in a semi-comatose afterglow for eons, but it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes.  Finally, he slid his hand from between my legs and licked my juices from his fingers as though I were his favourite flavour.  From somewhere, he managed a handkerchief, which I took, wiping him while he watched.

We’d only just gotten cleaned up and tucked back into our clothes when the bus pulled to a stop at some unnamed village en route.  He stood slowly and grabbed a rucksack from the rack above.  As he turned to go, he dropped a warm kiss on my cheek and disappeared into the night.  Several other people got off, then the bus continued on its way.  Just before I drifted off to sated sleep, basking in the lingering scent of sex and sandalwood, I found myself wondering if I could trade in my plane ticket, if just maybe it were possible to take a coach from Zagreb to Calais and catch a ferry to London.

 

The Jaybees: Kay and Steve, the Mysterious Man At Home

I’m pleased to have Kay Jaybee and her delightfully mysterious husband, Steve as my guest today in the third installment of the Passionate Partners series. Welcome, Kay and Steve!

KD:  Kay, I met you long before I met Steve. But that was because Steve was keeping the home fires burning, since London is quite a little hike for you to make. Keeping the home fires burning is no small task with children, and that is what impressed me most about you two Passionate Partners. While Steve wasn’t there in London with you, you couldn’t have been there without his support back home. That convinced me right on the spot that I was witnessing another one of those passionate partnerships in the promotion and celebration of sexuality through erotica. How did that journey begin, and has it always been a team effort?

K: We met at University a frighteningly long time ago now. Our first meeting was not auspicious! We were both helping a mutual friend get ready for a trip to Italy to study archaeology in Bologna. Said friend was as unorganised as ever, and the five of us who’d been roped in to get him to the train station on time we were all getting a bit tense to say the least!

S: You were as ratty as hell you mean!

K: Guilty as charged! I have a loathing of being late for anything, and the thought of our friend missing his connection and therefore his flight to Italy was making me edgy!

Steve was there with other friends, and I paid very little attention to any of them as I hunted high and low for all the dig equipment needed for the trip. I fear he thought I was a right stuck up cow!

S: I did! Posh southern thing in a bad mood!

K: Says the boy from the backwaters of Birmingham!!

S: What Kay is saying KD, is that she didn’t want anything to do with a bit of rough like me!!

K: Cheek! And you are not that rough Mr PhD!!! I just don’t like blokes with long hair that are mad about Iron Maiden!

S: And yet you married me!

K: Only after the hair got cut and I got you headphones! Lol!! Let’s just say, it took us 18 months from that first meeting to become friends, and then start going out together.

KD: Kay, what does Steve do to help your writing career that you appreciate more than anything else?

K: The most important thing Steve does is give me time to be Kay! It’s not easy reaching all my deadlines with the kids around and my other job to do, so being ‘Dad in charge’ for a few hours every weekend, and while I have my trips to London to do readings and erotica promotions, is vital- I could not do it without him. We have two amazing girls, and they are so much fun.

S: They are great- and both as mad as their mother!

K: And as nuts as their father!

S: Thanks goodness!

K: They also have very big feet- mine are the smallest shoes you can see here

KD: Steve, what, so far (knowing that there are lots more such moments ahead) has been the moment in Kay’s writing career when you’ve been the most proud of her?

S: My proudest moment was when I was looking at the Amazon charts on my iPhone and saw Kay’s novella, A Sticky Situation, in the top ten Kindle charts for the first time.  Or it may have been after her first trip to do a reading at Sh! in London. I knew she was really nervous of speaking in front of other people, but she did it!

K: I think ‘terrified’ is the word- nervous doesn’t even cover it!

S: You did it though!

KD: What has been the craziest experience you’ve shared in your mutual journey through erotica?

K: Steve is known for being serious-minded about his work, so when a few years ago, he took a selection of my books to work to feature as lots in a charity auction and told everyone his wife had written them- well, let’s just say he enjoyed the stunned looks on everyone faces!

S: That doesn’t sound that crazy really does it!

K: True, but one of the main things about my erotica work is that it’s something I do separately – so any craziness we come across as a result of it is experienced alone.

S: I am quite fond of people asking who the woman in the photo on my desk is- most people look stunned that a grizzled old science guy like me has such a hot wife!

K: Blushing here!! Daft man!!

KD: Steve, once Kay begins a new story, how involved are you in the process? What do you consider your most important role when she’s with the Muse?

S: I’m not really involved at all, apart from keeping Kay amused with sentences and ideas that are SO bad she would never ever use them.

K: I keep telling him ‘she grabbed his huge throbbing member’ just isn’t good enough, but he doesn’t believe me!!

S: Makes you laugh when I say it though!

K: It’s more how you say it!!

I’d have to add there though that, although Steve isn’t involved in the creative or ideas process, he is essential to it. If it wasn’t for him taking over the housework, cooking, and amusing the kids so I can scribble down my ideas when they hit me out of nowhere, then there would be no KJB stories at all.

KD: Steve, you’re the behind the scenes support. You stay home with the kids so Kay can come to London to participate in readings and other events. Do you ever feel like you’re missing out by not being able to be there with her?

S: To be honest I don’t. I often go away for conferences and meetings with my work, which often involve socialising (we do a wicked sing along session!), and so it’s only right that Kay has the same chances with her work. We work so well as a team because we have these different parts to our lives.

K: I’d have to agree with that- we need different parts of our lives that just belong to ourselves. Steve’s career is his- he’s worked really really hard for years to get so far. And my career is mine, and has been hard won. At the end of the day we have a lot of fun telling each other about our adventures! You should hear the recordings of those scientists singing!!

KD: Now THAT, I would love to hear, Kay! What’s the hardest part of the Kay/Steve working partnership?

K: I guess the hardest part is that my workload is so huge, and the PR never ever ends, which can lead me to being rather obsessive!

S: Sometimes I feel like wrestling her laptop out of her hands!!

K: Sometimes you do wrestle the laptop out of my hands!

S: I am the cruellest man in the world KD- I actually force my wife to have a glass of wine, chocolate, and watch TV!

K: He does- cruel in the extreme!!

KD: Oh, such torture, Kay! I can’t imagine how you endure it! Steve, you’r my kind of cruel! What’s the best part? (If there can be better than wine and chocolate!

K: Lol- when he wrestles the laptop out of my hands and makes me eat chocolate!! No- the best part is that Steve never stops making me laugh- bottom line is he makes me very happy.

KD: That truly is better than wine and chocolate!

S: I just love to see Kay smile- and when she’s doing well with her writing the smile is even wider! You do not want to be around if the PR mountain has reached crash helmet and crampon levels!!

K: True- I’m like a PMT monster from hell then!

S: And then some!

K: Steve helps me keep perspective- reminds me that blogs really can wait, that a novel isn’t going to be written well when I’m tired, and that I need far more rest than I let myself have!

KD: What’s the best advice the two of you can offer to make that strange and wonderful relationship between erotica writers and their partners run smoother?

K: Respect each other’s need to do their own thing!

S: Always have black coffee on tap

K: Or tea if you’re weird like my husband!!

S: Never forget that writers are weird- they don’t write because it’s their job. They write because they HAVE to write- there is something in them that makes it an unstoppable force.

K: And writers must remember that normal people aren’t often like that!

KD: Absoulutely true on both counts! Tell us something about the Kay and Steve Team that might really surprise us.

K: Perhaps the most surprising thing to people is that we are just an ordinary family, and one of us just happens to be quite good at writing sex scenes!

S: Normal? Us? Yes, we are normal- but probably only in our own sense of reality!!

K: And we make dolls house sometimes?

S: Well I do

K: And I tidy up

S: True!

KD: Kay, what’s the Muse had you up to lately, and what yumminess should we be keeping an eye out for from Kay Jaybee?

K: The muse is as active as ever- although it is having a slight change of direction for a little while!

It’s been quite a year for me, with the release of The Perfect Submissive as a paperback, my second novel The Voyeur, my third novel, Making Him Wait, and a new anthology The Best of Kay Jaybee!!

I am just finishing up a new novella for the Xcite Secret Library range, and then, after such a nonstop year, I have decided to take a couple of months off the erotica and try my hand at something else (my lips are sealed!!). I’ll be back soon though- it is high time novel number five transferred itself from my imagination to my notebook…

S: Thanks for letting us both visit today KD!! Been a bit of a walk on the wild side for me!!

K: Thanks KD!!! xxx

KD: Thanks, both of you, for stopping by. What a pleasure it’s been to have the whole team!

About Kay Jaybee

Kay Jaybee wrote the novels Making Him Wait, (Sweetmeats Press, 2012), The Voyeur (Xcite, 2012), The Perfect Submissive (Xcite 2012), and Not Her Type: Erotic Adventures With A Delivery Man (OCPress, 2011). She has also written the anthologies The Collector (Austin & Macauley, 2012 & 2008), The Best of Kay Jaybee (Xcite, 2012), Tied to the Kitchen Sink, Equipment, (All Romance, 2012), Yes Ma’am (Xcite e-books, 2011), Quick Kink One and Quick Kink Two (Xcite e-books, 2010). Kay has had over 60 short stories published by Cleis Press (inc. Best of Best Women’s Erotica 2, Best Women’s Erotica 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2012; Best Bondage 2012, Sweet Love, Smooth, Gotta Have It, Sweet Confessions), Black Lace (Sexy Little Numbers), Mammoth (The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotica), Xcite (inc.Ultimate Sin, Boy Fun, Power Play, Threesomes, Finger Music, Tricks For Kicks), Penguin (Oysters and Chocolate; Erotic Stories of Every Flavor), Seal (Oysters and Chocolate; Nice Girls, Naughty Sex),and Sweetmeats Press (Immoral Views)

Details of Kay’s work, past, present and future can be found at www.kayjaybee.me.uk

http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Best-Kay-Jaybee-ebook/dp/B009YYRM3Q/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1351690101&sr=1-1

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Making-Him-Wait-ebook/dp/B009RT6SM4/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1352055034&sr=1-1

http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Voyeur-ebook/dp/B008QBZ42Y/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1352055073&sr=1-1

http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Perfect-Submissive-length-ebook/dp/B008GNDT3I/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1352055158&sr=1-1

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Collector-Kay-Jaybee/dp/1849633517/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1352055225&sr=1-1

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Pleasure is all YOURS with the Sh! Christmas Pleasure Hunt!

It’s totally MY pleasure to participate in the Sh!Christmas Pleasure Hunt!

Sh! Women’s Store is one of my favourite places on the planet because Sh! and I have a history. I did my very first erotica reading at Sh! back when I was a newbie smutter.  Sh! has always been my go-to place for research. I’ve picked the always-helpful Sh! Ladiez’ brains about spanking, corsetry and lube, and for my first novel, The Initiation of Ms Holly, the lovely Renee brought me up to speed on pegging. I don’t mind saying I looked pretty bad-ass in a strap-on (over my trousers, of course) I’ve also been lucky enough to host several informative, sexy and fun posts from Renee at Sh! on my blog. There’s never a shortage of laughter and camaraderie at Sh!. I had my first ever novel launch party at Sh!, and all the others since. I’ve been to all sorts of wonderful readings and events at Sh!. I’ve participated in classes, I’ve asked myriad questions, I’ve stopped in just to say Hi. The Sh! Ladiez are my heroes. They are brave and strong and wonderful, and without a doubt, they are the real treasures in this treasure hunt.

A special thanks to Kristina Lloyd, who orchestrated the cunning plan for the Sh! Christmas Pleasure Hunt.

 

Here’s what you need to do to participate in the fab Sh! Pleasure Hunt.

From today (Friday 7th) until Monday (10th), twelve erotica authors will be secreting pieces of information on their blog posts. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to follow the trail, collect this info and enter a draw to win all kinds of awesome stuff!

Sh! is a shop much loved by erotica authors in the UK and US. Not only does the store sell an amazing range of top-quality products and sexy books, the Sh! Girlz are hugely supportive of what we do as writers. Many of us have been involved in readings at the London store, and have been lucky enough to sample the Sh! Girlz’ cupcakes! Time Out voted Sh! London’s best sex shop for women. We couldn’t agree more.

Last week, the Sh! website was down, thanks to the curmudgeonly efforts of crackers. Happily, the site is now back, as proudly pink as ever, and so, in the words of the song, December Will be Magic Again!

To celebrate, we’re hosting our Christmas Pleasure Hunt and Sh! are kicking off their Filthy Friday!

Authors playing along are: Janine Ashbless, Justine Elyot, Kay Jaybee, KD Grace, Lexie Bay, Lily Harlem, Lucy Felthouse, Remittance Girl, Sommer Marsden, Tabitha Rayne, Tamsin Flowers, Victoria Blisse

That’s quite a line up, no? The aim of the game is to find a word from the following Kate Bush lyric in a post from each of our participating authors:

Come to sparkle the dark up …Come to cover the muck up

That word will link to a sexy Sh! product. Check out the link, note down the price. At the end of the hunt, add up all 12 prices you’ve collected. That total is your answer!

There will be three posts per day, starting today, going across the weekend, and finishing on Monday. Each post will link to the three authors who’ll be posting on the following day.

After Monday, email your answer (the total price of all linked products) to Sh! (renee@sh-womenstore.com). All correct answers will go into a draw. One lucky winner gets a bumper bag of goodies from Sh! Thirteen runners up will receive a book (print or digital) from one of the authors on board (including me). It’s a snowfall of smut!

Have you got the clue? Good! Then head on over to Lexie Bay and Lucy Felthouse’s site for the last two clues.

 

A snippet of The Collection from Sh!’s Sex: the Bible

‘Tell me about your collection,’ Alex says. He nods to the dildos spread across my bed and overflowing onto the nightstand and the dressing table.

I fiddle with the sash of my silk robe like I’m some innocent, all embarrassed by the gaze of a cute boy. I’m not. ‘Aren’t they lovely?’ I say. ‘I have glass ones and curved ones and Lucite ones and heavy metal ones that are sort of like taking the vag to a gym for some serious weight lifting.’

He laughs nervously and shifts on the chair. I know he’s fighting a hard-on. I continue. ‘I have slender ones and thick ones, ones that look like real penises.’ I have one that’s an actual replica of the cock of an ex, but I don’t tell him that. I don’t want to intimidate him. My hand slides absently into my robe to cup my tits and tweak the nipples already stretched in anticipation. I nod to the dildo resting closest to my right thigh. ‘This is the lovely jade one I found in a fetish shop in Soho.

‘Oh, and the stone one… Well it’s actually only a stone I found on a walk. But it looks so much like a cock that it had to join the collection. I call it my cock rock.’

Alex’s eyes get big when I pull the stone from my pocket. It’s not a Neolithic sex toy or anything like that. It’s just a cock-shaped stone, but somehow that makes it even hotter. ‘Nature provides,’ I say. Then I wriggle and shift my bottom until my back is against the headboard. I open my legs and bend my knees and the hem of the robe falls open. I can feel the cool air on my bare pussy, and I hear Alex’s breath hitch. I’m wet, so totally wet. I’m always wet when I spend time with my collection.

I make an expansive gesture with my right hand that causes the front of my robe to gape. ‘They’re not just to look at, my dildos.’ I thumb my clit, then finger myself open, feeling swollen and heavy. ‘I make sure every one of my lovelies gets a good workout.’

‘Every one?’ He says breathlessly.                            

‘All of them,’ I say. ‘I have a schedule, you see.’ I nod to the dressing table where there’s a purple velvet journal lying open with a fountain pen marking the spot. ‘And I take notes. I take notes on each of my experiences with every dildo.’

I watch his face, but he’s not looking at me. His eyes are locked on the stone dildo, like it’s a snake, like it’s alive. Like he can’t believe I’m going to put it up my pussy. I stroke myself, and maybe it’s the smell of me all wet and nasty, or maybe it’s that he’s never seen a naked, gaping pussy about to gorge on dildos of the world, but he just stares and shifts his ass against the chair, back and forth. I can see the outline of his cock. I don’t miss these sorts of details, not being a dildo connoisseur, as I am, not being the type of person who obsesses on the shapes and sizes and textures and finesse of implements that might be introduced into my cunt for the pure tactile pleasure of it.

 

Imagination in the Flesh

This past year has been insanely busy for me, and it’s not likely to let up much until the middle of next year. This is not a complaint. At the moment I have more to write than I have time for, and the deadlines that are already tight, I push and pare down to make even tighter so I can write even more. A friend of mine would have called this situation a golden monkey wrench. It’s an amazing place to be, but also quite terrifying. By the end of the year I will have written four full-length novels and a novella, and all of what I’ve written, I’m very proud of. What’s already published is doing well. All in all it’s been a banner year and, possibly, the hardest year of my life.

I live in my head most of the time, like most fiction writers do, and the writing schedule has kept me in my head more this year than ever before. Coming off the successful launch of Riding the Ether and Grace Marshall’s successful launch of An Executive Decision, and with the demand for the second novel in the Executive Decisions Trilogy ASAP, I’ve had to rethink my situation and find a way back into my body.

That probably sounds insane for someone who writes erotic romance, but I would bet I’m not the only one who has to fight the huge disconnect between the mental and the physical. Fiction doesn’t demand physicality. Whole worlds can be created and peopled without a writer ever leaving the comfort of her writing space. The place of the imagination is outrageously fertile and none of us will ever live long enough to explore it to its full depth. In essence, we can go there and never leave.

I’ve started going to the gym twice a week, even working with a personal trainer from time to time to force the issue. A big part of the reason for that is just to maintain my health. But it’s also to help prepare for the Wainwright Memorial walk, which will be the most challenging walk we’ve ever done. We planned to do it last May, but writing happened far more intensely than I had anticipated, so we postponed it for a year.

Every time I head off to the gym, my mind rebels with an endless list of reasons why I should stay home and work. There are deadlines, there are mountains of PR, there are readings, talks. How the hell can I waste my time sweating it out at the gym? But I go, and I sweat and I push myself for an hour. And strangely, the world changes.

I walked home along the canal a few days ago after a particularly hard work out (I think my personal trainer might be a bit of a sadistJ) The water of the canal was like glass. Only the wake of two mallards sliced through the mirror image of a clear sky with a double V that seemed to go on forever behind them. I was struck by how brilliant everything was, how clear everything seemed all of a sudden. I was struck by how much more physical, how much more real the world around me felt.

That day I managed seven thousand words on the novel, seven thousand good words. That day I thought a lot about that boundless place of imagination that stretches out in all directions inside every writer. I realise the less time I spend in my body, the more I confine myself to the tourist routes in my imagination. The less time I spend in my body, the less I’m able to head off track into the wild places, into the deep places where story take shapes and textures and tones I couldn’t have imagined if I hadn’t spent that time in the flesh, as it were. This is not something I didn’t know. This is something that’s always been central to my work and who I am, and yet, it’s amazingly easy to forget, to neglect, to overlook.

That same weekend we worked in the allotment, clearing weeds, digging, making things ready for spring planting. The smell of damp earth, the bronze and gold of the trees against the exhibitionist blue of the sky, the stoop and bend and press and shove of my body kept me in the moment, kept me in the flesh, kept me present from one breath to the next.

It isn’t always sex, thought it can be at times. It’s just being there, at home, in the flesh. It’s just knowing, even if I don’t understand why, that there is a connection between the blood and bone and flesh of me, between the way the physical me moves and breathes and interacts with the rest of what’s concrete, and with the vast realm of the imagination spread before me always new, always wild, always inviting. And never completely safe. The wildest places, the most dangerous places are off the beaten path of the imagination, and at least for me, those areas, those untouched, primordial areas are most accessable when I’m most in my body.

 
© 2017 K D Grace
The Romance Reviews

Site created and maintained by Writer Marketing Services | Sitemap
Social media & sharing icons powered by UltimatelySocial