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The Bus Route: Part 2

Welcome to the 2nd Instalment of The Bus Route. I hope all of you are staying safe during lockdown. For me and many others, it feels like an opportunity to press the restart button in a world gone mad. For me this has been a time of intense writing and reading. Anyone who follows my blog loves to read or they wouldn’t be here. So I’m choosing this time to share a brand new KDG story that has never been made public before.

Be warned, this is a different kind of KDG story, a hybrid of erotica, crime and paranormal with a pinch of horror thrown in for good measure. After today, I will be sending you an instalment of The Bus Route once a week for seven weeks, so be sure to check in every Friday for a new instalment.

 

Sex in derelict buses. Who knew it was a thing?

A money-making thing for Seth Allen, who blackmails enthusiasts stepping out on their other half by catching the deed on cameras he’s rigged at a public transport scrap yard known by frequenters as the Bus Route. Sadly the paydays aren’t as regular as Seth would like until con artist, Jon Knight, suggests they team up. With Seth’s tech and Jon’s charm, the money rolls in and the future looks bright until their marks start disappearing mysteriously.

 

 

 

 

The Bus Route: Part II

 

The woman Jon brought to the Bust Stop our first night as a team had the airbrushed good looks that rubberstamped the filthy rich. She was dressed to the nines except for the clunky oversized shoulder bag, but I cared way more about the filthy rich part than her fashion statement. I planted myself at a table near enough to hear the occasional tinkle of nervous laughter over the canned music and see the flutter of long lashes when Jon pushed her color-me perfect hair aside to give lip service to her throat and earlobe. But when his hands headed south she made a half-assed attempt to push him away. He quickly regrouped and went for mouth to mouth instead. She gave over to the full-on lip-lock deluxe package with plenty of tongue and teeth, as her tastefully manicured fists clenched the back of his shirt. Then I realized while the face eating finesse never faltered, Jon’s gaze was on me. It was show time.

He was taking her on the Bus Route, and I would be waiting. I didn’t need to be there. I could have done my part from my laptop in the back of the bar, but Jon insisted.

The Bus Stop itself was a slapped together bar on a dodgy industrial site, an eyesore in daylight and not much better tarted up by darkness and a few oversized Christmas lights strung precariously above the door. No one knew what might be buried under a few inches of scraped together rubble, but then no one was there to paint landscapes. No glammed up urban renewal here, just an old warehouse overdue for condemning. If the cops ever decided to shut the place down, they’d have a shitload of violations to choose from. But the always crowded Bus Stop went conveniently, and lucratively unnoticed.

The real attraction of the place was the enormous scrap yard behind the property with its graveyard of old public transport buses. The place was posted and tucked away behind by a high fence topped with razor wire. The bar was the only public, if illegal, entrance to the Bus Route. Fucking in derelict buses. Who knew it was a thing? For me a lucrative thing once I set up a few remote cameras in the more popular buses. It wasn’t hard to tell which ones were well used. Those busses sported rows of marks scratched into the paint near the front door, like notches on a bedpost. Some of the regulars had made it a game, a challenge, to see who could hook up and shag in the most buses. It was a double decker Jon and I chose. I slipped out ahead of him taking a short cut through a gap between the fence and the wall of a derelict body shop. Whatever went on inside, I didn’t want to know, but the place was always a bit whiffy.

Though they were redundant, at Jon’s request, I donned my spy specs as I slunk into the bus. I had just gotten tucked out of sight when he helped his lady up the steps, their breathless giggles and wet kisses sounded like something straight from an adolescent grope fest. The motion sensors triggered the cameras, and we were open for business.

“I always wanted to drive a bus,” she said, curling her fingers around the girth of the steering wheel suggestively.

“Seat’s a little low for you, darling, but I have just the solution.” Jon settled in behind the wheel and with a little bit of tugging and shifting for position, he was open for business too. There was no foreplay, no coaxing, no teasing. She just hoiked her skirt and climbed aboard, the noises of pain and pleasure too muddled to tell apart. Hands tangled in hair and yanked at clothing all to a wet soundtrack of heavy breathing and animal grunts.

Now I’ve recorded enough rough rides and clumsy efforts to give it or take it up the chuff to know that in a hook up on the Bus Route, there’s seldom more than an awkward fumble followed by a quick stuff and shoot. But there was cool elegance in what Jon did to that woman, and yet something distantly savage and desperate. I could have analyzed the videos frame by frame and still not figured out what he’d done to make her so completely his for that few minutes. It embarrassed me to realize that I was just as enthralled.

When the deed was done he motioned me over, the woman all but falling off his lap as she pulled up knickers and tugged at her skirt. “I want it,” she said with the wide-eyed excitement of a happy drunk. “Jon told me everything, Seth, and of course I want to buy it.”

Before I could question, Jon said, “I told Eleanor about mum. I’m sorry, Seth. It just came out.” He gave her a goo goo-eyed lover’s look. “She’s just so easy to talk to. And Seth, she wants to help us so we won’t have to do this anymore.” And bugger me if this Eleanor person didn’t pull boulder-sized diamond studs from her earlobes and hand them over “Take them, they’re genuine,” she slurred. With a wave of her hand she added, “they were just an impulse buy to thumb my nose at my husband. And this.” She shoved the clunky shoulder bag into my arms. “It’s all I could lay my hands on with such short notice, but hopefully it’ll help your mum.” She nodded for me to open it. The thing was completely stuffed with cash. Lots of cash! That fashion statement worked just fine for me.

“This will help mum so much,” Jon said. “Eleanor, how can we ever repay your kindness?” Were there actually tears in his eyes?

“Well, Seth can get me a flash drive of that delicious video, and you,” she said, stroking Jon’s exposed chest, can take me home.”

I’d done the big reveal often enough to be prepared when the guilty parties called me every filthy name in their often limited vocabulary, even threatened me with bodily injury before they twigged that they could either pay up or suffer the consequences. But this was a first.

 

The Bus Route: Part 1 of a Brand New 7 Part KGD Story

I hope all of you are staying safe during lockdown. For me and many others, it feels like an opportunity to press the restart button in a world gone mad. For me this has been a time of intense writing and reading. Anyone who follows my blog loves to read or they wouldn’t be here. So I’m choosing this time to share a brand new KDG story that has never been made public before.

Be warned, this is a different kind of KDG story, a hybrid of erotica, crime and paranormal with a pinch of horror thrown in for good measure. After today, I will be sending you an instalment of The Bus Route once a week for the next seven weeks, so be sure to check in every Friday for a new instalment.

 

Sex in derelict buses. Who knew it was a thing?

A money-making thing for Seth Allen, who blackmails enthusiasts stepping out on their other half by catching the deed on cameras he’s rigged at a public transport scrap yard known by frequenters as the Bus Route. Sadly the paydays aren’t as regular as Seth would like until con artist, Jon Knight, suggests they team up. With Seth’s tech and Jon’s charm, the money rolls in and the future looks bright until their marks start disappearing mysteriously.

 

 

 

The Bus Route Part I

 

“I’ve been watching you, Seth.” The stranger inserted himself into the tight space next to me at the bar. “I know what you’re doing here.” That the man knew my name should have scared me more than it did, but you get jaded in my line of work. As to him knowing what I did, well, I doubted it. In hindsight, I was less cautious than I should have been.

“I’m here to get lucky, like everyone else,” I said without looking away from the couple I’d been watching. They were taking longer than the average punters to get on with it – evidence that romance wasn’t dead, only anesthetized and dysfunctional. They were finally about to give me the money shot, and I’d just activated the camera on my spy specs. I couldn’t afford to have another unsuccessful night. “Sorry, mate,” I added, hoping he’d take the hint, “you’re not my type.”

I scented quality whisky on his breath, and he wore cologne too expensive for me to be allowed in the same room with. “Oh, I’m everybody’s type,” he all but purred. “Though that’s not the point.”

I’ll admit, it intrigued me, even excited me a little that he had been observing me, but then I was in a sleazy bar full of people who got off on the risk of being seen doing the dirty with a stranger. Though having their illicit acts recorded for purchase or as surprise prezzies for the viewing pleasure of their absent other halves should they decline was not what they had in mind.

“You won’t get much from them,” the man observed over my shoulder.  “Bloke’s drowning in debt. Probably be a divorce when his wife finds out. You’re looking at what, a hundred quid, maybe two if you’re lucky.”

Two fifty and change, I thought to myself. Delia, the bar maid, had light fingers and had borrowed the man’s ostentatious money clip from his pocket when she delivered the last drink. She took a few bills for herself and passed the word on to me. Money clips were rare in this hole, but a little flash of the cash would always get you laid if you had little else going for you.

The man behind me all but sighed in my ear. “I suppose that’s not bad for one night’s work. If it’s the best you can do.”

That tore it! I was tired, I was hungry, and I owed three or my snitches money for their tips on the fiascos of the last two nights. I turned on him. “I suppose you can do better.”

“You know I can. Way better.” Before I could do more than stand there with my gob hanging open, he grabbed my hand and shook it. “I’m Jon.”

“I know,” was all I could manage. Now I’m not gay, but I’m definitely open-minded, and I’d seen enough of Jon’s moves at the Bus Stop to give myself the occasional drunken stiffie imagining what it would be like with him. He was a player, though I couldn’t figure out his game. He was always with a different person, occasionally someone he’d picked up at the Bus Stop, more often someone he just showed up with. They were never anyone I recognized, and he never used any of my buses for the deed. The cameras would have recorded it if he had. None of his marks ever came back to the Bus Stop. I figured once he got them to cough up the dosh, they were smart enough to stay away. Though watching his moves, I reckon some of them thought it was good value for money.

“If you’re hitting on me, you’re wasting your time. I’m skint.”

He waved my words away like he would a gnat from his beer. “Now, why would I hit on my prospective business partner?”

That reminded me why I was at the Bus Stop, but I turned to find the couple I’d been watching gone.

Ignoring my colorful language, Jon laid a firm hand on my shoulder and guided me away from the bar. “Never mind them, they’re beneath you. Together we can do so much better.”  He sat me down at a rickety table already equipped with two glasses a bottle of very fine whisky.

His plan was simple. He’d do what he did best and seduce the money. With my network of cameras, I would make sure the act was recorded for posterity. He said he’d already been grooming our first mark. He said he had it all planned out, a payday way bigger than anything I’d ever managed. Honestly, I don’t remember much beyond the basic plan. Apparently I had more than my share of the whisky, as we toasted our partnership.

If my ability was to remain unnoticed, Jon’s was to be irresistible in a very lucrative way. At first glance, he could have been a cliché for a romance novel – tall, dark, broad-shouldered, but his looks were irrelevant. It was his actions that were unforgettable. I make my living being observant, and good looks don’t count for much. It’s polish, confidence, attitude, like you own the whole goddamned planet. Jon had that in spades. But I brought into the partnership the cameras and tech along with a set up that had taken patience, stealth and the better part of a year to put together. That Jon knew about that set up should have concerned me. It didn’t.

 

Out Now—Multi-Orgasmic Vol 3 by Lucy Felthouse (@cw1985) #erotica #eroticshortstories #anthology #newrelease

Blurb:

Love erotic short stories? Then check out this third collection of sexy short fiction from the pen of award-winning erotica author Lucy Felthouse.

Felthouse is back with a third volume of her popular short stories. Heating you up this time are tales of tattooed bad boys, unusual bondage, female domination, women taking matters into their own hands, outdoor encounters with strangers, indoor encounters with husbands, spanking, and even a Valentine’s Day surprise.

Enjoy sixteen titillating tales, over 54,000 words of naughtiness packed into one steamy read.

Please note: The stories in this book have been previously published in anthologies, as standalones, and online, but have been re-edited and updated for this book.

Available in eBook and paperback formats, with audio coming soon: http://books2read.com/MOV3

*****

Excerpt from Passing Out Passion:

As we filed into the mess, I glanced to my left and caught my mother’s eye. We shared a smile. From my other side, my dad grabbed my hand and gave it a quick squeeze before letting go. It had been a tough twelve weeks, but now my younger brother Shane had successfully completed his basic training for the British Army, we were overwhelmed with pride. We’d just watched him and his colleagues at their passing out parade, complete with the pomp and ceremony Brits are famous for, and were heading indoors for some food, drink and celebrations.

I could hardly wait to see Shane and tell him how proud of him I was, but I knew that the recruits had some stuff they had to do before they could head into the mess and be with us. Hopefully they wouldn’t take too long.

Throughout the parade, I’d barely taken my eyes off the spectacle before me. The band and the recruits had mesmerised me with their well rehearsed routines, and when I’d finally spotted Shane, I’d welled up. My little brother. Though, of course, he’s not all that little. He’s four years younger than me, yet when we stand side by side I barely come up to his shoulder.

Now, though, I looked around at the other families and friends who’d also come to celebrate their loved one’s achievement. There were lots of hugging women, and men shaking hands and slapping backs. There were people closer to my age, too, the brothers and sisters of the recruits, and also girlfriends and boyfriends.

“Christina.”

My mother’s voice tugged me out of my thoughts, and I turned to face her with a smile.

“Come on, sweetheart, your father’s gone over there to get us a table.”

I fell into step behind her as she walked towards the table she’d indicated. But the room was filling rapidly, and I quickly lost her in the squeeze of bodies.

I wasn’t concerned. I continued to slip between people with a polite smile and the occasional “excuse me” if they hadn’t seen me. Soon, though, I got to a group of people so tightly packed together and laughing so raucously that I was going to have to resort to shoulder tapping, I just knew it.

After my increasingly loud pleas went unheard, I reached up to tap one of the group on the shoulder. The guy spun round faster than I’d expected, almost knocking me over in the process. He reached out and grabbed my elbow to steady me, then our eyes met and a gasp escaped my mouth before I could stop it. He was obviously just as surprised as I, as his blue eyes widened and his grip on my arm tightened. My resultant frown obviously made him realise what he was doing, as he let go of me and finally opened his mouth.

“Hey!” His previous shock forgotten, his face transformed from surprised to delighted. “What are you doing here?”

Available in eBook and paperback formats, with audio coming soon: http://books2read.com/MOV3

Also check out:

Multi-Orgasmic: https://books2read.com/multiorgasmic

Multi-Orgasmic Vol 2: http://books2read.com/MOV2

*****

Author Bio:

Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of Cliterati.co.uk’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of, and an Amazon bestseller), Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Café’s Best Ménage Book 2015 award, and an Amazon bestseller), The Persecution of the Wolves, Hiding in Plain Sight and The Heiress’s Harem series. Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 170 publications to her name. Find out more about her writing at http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk, or on Twitter or Facebook. Join her Facebook group for exclusive cover reveals, sneak peeks and more! Sign up for automatic updates on Amazon or BookBub. Subscribe to her newsletter here: http://www.subscribepage.com/lfnewsletter

Release blitz organised by Writer Marketing Services.

 

Out Now—Yes Ma’am: Six Tales of High Class Fem-Dom Erotica by Kay Jaybee (@kay_jaybee) #BDSM #femdom #kink #erotica

Kay Jaybee is delighted to announce the re-release of one of her most popular erotic anthologies.

Re-edited and re-covered, Yes Ma’am is back with a vengeance from 22nd November!

 

Blurb

Could you write your wildest fantasies on your best friend’s boyfriend, or sell your sexual soul to a woman in black?

Find out how far army cadet, Luke Porter, will go to improve his standing within his regiment, and discover the consequences of losing your temper on London’s Underground in this collection of wrist binding, whip wielding, butt spanking tales of female domination.

Yes Ma’am contains six straight and bi-sexual encounters of the S&M nature.

All six stories deliver a different take on the FemDom experience.

Lying in Wait– Cadet Luke Porter is the least successful army recruit in the squadron. His female counterparts are determined to find out how far Luke will go to improve his standing within the regiment…

Black – He is intoxicated by the woman in black. He can’t explain why he needs to see her or why he willing does precisely what she tells him to…

Dear Claire – Ali has secretly lusted over her best friend’s lover Rick, for a long time. At least, she thought it was a secret…

“Don’t You Emma” – Sitting in an armchair has never been so difficult…

Not Taking the Tube – Venting his frustration at being delayed yet again by London’s Underground system on the nearest official, the harassed businessman finds his complaints aren’t received in quite the way he’d expected…

Rachel’s Twisted Tale – Rapunzel never suffered like this….

*****

Here’s an extract from “Don’t You Emma.”

… Lee sat back in the leather armchair. She’d told him that all he had to do to get a damn good fucking was to stay in the chair until she decreed otherwise.

As he watched Daisy move around the living room Lee thought, not for the first time, how inappropriately named she was. The name suggested someone meek, gentle and childlike. It didn’t conjure the image of a tall, fit, fake blonde, who could get her rocks off simply by beating your arse until it glowed purple.

She was clearing the space in front of him. The coffee table had already been repositioned to the side of the chair, and the newspapers that usually lay all over the place had been stacked up. All the cushions he’d thrown off the sofa had been neatly placed back where they belonged.

‘You are going to reward me for watching you clean up?’ Lee was amused by this uncharacteristic fit of tidying.

Daisy gave him a stare that would have chilled a lesser man to the bone, but Lee had known her for a long time and all it did was increase the arousal of her promise to give him a good seeing-to.

‘I don’t believe I said you could talk to me while you were waiting.’

‘Come off it, Daisy. You’re only doing the chores.’

Ignoring him, his partner brushed her hands together, and glancing at the increased floor space across the now uncluttered pale green carpet, left the room.

Lee’s imagination had already moved on to what reward he was going to get for being a good, patient boy. He wondered if he’d have to endure a spanking, or if she’d bind or gag him. Flickers of tense longing played in his stomach and stirred his groin.

Glancing at the clock on the corner of the bookcase, he listened to the quiet tick. It seemed to fill the room as he waited with growing impatience for Daisy’s return. He assumed she was fetching her sex toys, or perhaps changing into something less comfortable. It was with a sense of a surprise and unease, however, that Lee heard the front door open and the sound of muffled voices.

Despite only wearing a red T-shirt and some lightweight black combats, Lee suddenly felt rather hot as Daisy re-entered the lounge with company.

The warning glint in Daisy’s eyes confirmed that Lee should stay precisely where he was, his legs outstretched before him, his arms resting on the chair’s soft padded arms, his mouth shut.

His dark brown eyes moved from his lover to the girl with her. About 25 years old perhaps, with long ginger hair that hung in two perfectly tied pigtails. Slim, but with enough of a curve to catch the eye, her green gaze had a keen, eager to please gleam, that just hinted at mischief.

Lee swallowed very carefully. Daisy hadn’t, had she? Not really? He opened his mouth to ask her if he was right, or if his imagination was running away with him. No sound came out though. He didn’t want to risk her saying he was mistaken and ruining the fantasy that roller-coasted around his lust driven head.

The girl, without taking off either the boots or the long winter coat she wore, even though it was a warm summer’s day, answered his unspoken question, as she lowered her head and knelt on the cleared floor before Daisy; her mistress.

‘Oh my!’ His words were barely audible. Daisy either hadn’t heard them or had dismissed them as unimportant. Lee concentrated very hard on breathing; forcing himself to sit still and not lean forward in the chair….

 

Buy Links

Amazon UK: https://amzn.to/2OLCU0Y
Amazon US: https://amzn.to/2B6fgEF
Amazon AU: https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B07YZP2HNC
Amazon CA: https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B07YZP2HNC
Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/yes-maam-kay-jaybee/1106910229?ean=2940163359196
iBooks UK: https://books.apple.com/gb/book/yes-maam/id1483228798?mt=11&app=itunes&at=1010lSvp
iBooks US: https://books.apple.com/us/book/yes-maam/id1483228798?mt=11&app=itunes&at=1010lSvp
Kobo: https://click.linksynergy.com/deeplink?id=2uLYNRmz8QE&mid=37219&murl=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.kobo.com%2Fgb%2Fen%2Febook%2Fyes-ma-am-9
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/985492?ref=cw1985

*****

Bio

Kay Jaybee was named Best Erotica Writer of 2015 by the ETO

Kay received an honouree mention at the NLA Awards 2015 for excellence in BDSM writing.

Kay Jaybee has over 190 erotica publications including, Yes Ma’am, (KJBooks, Second ed., 2019),  A Kink a Day- Book One, Two, Three & Four (KJBooks, 2018-2019), The Voyeur (Sinful Press, 2018), Knowing Her Place-Book 3: The Perfect Submissive Trilogy, (KJBooks, 2018),  The Retreat- Book2: The Perfect Submissive Trilogy (KJBooks, 2018), Making Him Wait (Sinful Press, 2018), The Fifth Floor- Book1;The Perfect Submissive Trilogy (KJBooks, 2017), Wednesday on Thursday, (KDP, 2017), The Collector (KDP, 2016), A Sticky Situation (Xcite, 2013), Digging Deep, (Xcite 2013), Take Control, (1001 NightsPress, 2014), and Not Her Type (1001 NightsPress), 2013.

Details of all her short stories and other publications can be found at www.kayjaybee.me.uk

You can follow Kay on –

Amazon – – https://www.amazon.co.uk/Kay-Jaybee/e/B004O0S9GO/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1534155776&sr=1-1

Twitter- https://twitter.com/kay_jaybee

Facebook –http://www.facebook.com/KayJaybeeAuthor

Goodreads- http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/3541958-kay-jaybee

Brit Babes Site- http://thebritbabes.blogspot.co.uk/p/kay-jaybee.html

Kay also writes contemporary romance and children’s picture books as Jenny Kane www.jennykane.co.uk  and historical fiction as Jennifer Ash www.jenniferash.co.uk

Release blitz organised by Writer Marketing Services.

 

Vanilla Confessions of Kinky Fiction

One question we writer of erotica gets asked ad nauseum is if we’ve actually done the things we write about. In fact one of the big fears many writers, no matter their genre, have is that any sex scene they write will leave them exposed, will leave readers wondering if they’ve actually ever done what they wrote about, or almost worse still, questioning their sexual experience in general. This fear is probably, in part, why the Bad Sex Awards exist. That their sex lives might be the topic of speculation because of something they’ve written is terrifying to anyone as introverted as most writers are. By the very act of exposing ourselves through our stories, we are left open for readers to speculate on just which parts of our tale are fact and which parts are fiction. Anyone who has had even the most basic psychology class will know that there is a little bit of us in each tale we write. How well we’ve disguised that and how much of it we wantto disguise is also a part of our craft, though often at an unconscious level.

 

On a panel with four other erotica writers being interviewed at a literary festival, we were told that we looked more like librarians than writers of filthy stories. We all had a little chuckle and then told the naïve person interviewing us that actually we look exactly like the writers of filthy stories.

 

When The Initiation of Ms. Holly  was published, I was asked by someone who was into the BDSM lifestyle how I could write BDSM when I had no experience of it personally. While we had a very interesting discussion on the topic, I was struck that it would have never entered this person’s mind to ask a crime writer how they could write detective whodunits or police procedurals without any experience of being a criminal or being a detective. Later, I realized that our discussion was, in itself, the answer to the woman’s question. From it I had gleaned valuable information on a lifestyle I sometimes wrote about, but did not myself embrace.

 

Those strange nebulous boundaries between fact and fiction are more troublesome to some writers, and readers than they are to others. I don’t know of any erotica author whose work hasn’t been affected by the required use of condoms in erotic fiction. The implication seems to be that readers of erotic fiction are perhaps not intelligent enough to realize that what we write is fiction and that if we should choose for our characters not to use condoms, then surely it must be safe enough to go and do likewise. To some degree that constraint in publishing, which does not apply to any other genre, is what drove me to write more paranormal fiction. While I am a complete advocate of safe sex, fiction is fiction, and in my erotic fantasies, condoms don’t much figure. Also, I seldom have people questioning me about which vampires or demons I’ve had sex with in order to write my stories with authority.

 

It came as a surprise to me to find that a writer friend of mine who has done very well in crime fiction told me she often finds herself having similar discussions. While no one has ever asked her if she committed the crimes she writes about, she often finds herself trying to explain to readers and friends that she writes fiction, and fiction is not the same thing as fact.

 

That leads to the question; just how realistic should fiction be? I’ve been in more than a few heated discussions about the need, or not, to make fiction – especially romance and erotic fiction – more realistic. It’s true that writers always has to be aware of pushing the believability limits to the point they lose their readers, and a story has to be grounded in a believable context. At the same time, I’m an escapist reader. I don’t want to read about people just like me, or people who do the things I do. I want to read about people who are larger than life. I want to read about people who get their HEA against all odds.

 

I’m a voyeur on every level, and never more so than as a reader. I want to see, and vicariously experience, that which I would never want to experience in real life. A part of what fiction does is allow us to live many lives through the eyes of many people. THAT is seriously powerful magic there!  As a writer, a teller of tales, my whole vocation is based on a voyeuristic experience flowing from my own imagination with the desire to share that internal voyeurism with other people. And I promise you, while the characters might have certain traits that are mine, while
glimpses of my life that have inspired the tale might seep through, the stories are completely and totally fiction.

 

I may live in the real world, the mundane world, but I don’t want to read about it in my fiction. I think that’s a part of why erotica writers look like librarians. We live reality, but we write fiction, filthy, dirty, dangerous fiction. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, erotica is the ultimate safe sex, and it can be as dark and dangerous and kinky as I want it to be precisely because it’s safe … because it’s fiction.

 

 
© 2018 K D Grace
The Romance Reviews

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