Thursday, October 30, 2014

Monday, October 27, 2014

Halloween Menage a Trois!

Life in London as a butcher girl is hard enough, but when my best friend Denny goes missing without a trace it becomes miserable. So finding clues to his whereabouts and then stumbling one foggy morning into the Worshipful Company of the Ancient Order is like a breath of fresh air. Not least because sexy sophisticated Aimery has promised to help me when no one else will.

But Aimery has a best friend and it seems Ryle wants in on the action. My head begins to spin, my body reacting to theirs whenever I'm around them. But there are questions I need answering. What is their obsession with my rare blood type? How do they always appear just when I need them? And exactly how old are they?

Learning the truth about my lovers brings new fears and delights. They take me higher than I’ve ever gone before, show me delights I never imagined existed and are prepared to kill to keep me safe. Being mortal has never been so much fun, or so deliciously dangerous.

This book is a sequel to Bite Mark; to ensure full enjoyment of this book, please read Bite Mark first.

Being married to two sexy vampires is as exciting as it is dangerous. One minute I’m on top of the world, the next I’m running for my life. But it’s okay with Aimery and Ryle at my side—they’ve sworn to love and protect me and keep me satisfied until I’m old and gray.

But when everything crashes down, literally, I can see no way out of the darkness—death my best option. Until two unusual men come bounding to my aid.

Gentle Caleb and prickly Isaac have secrets. They’re full of passion, desire, love and lust and their isolated lives are weaved with mystery. But I know what they are. I’m also craving some serious satisfying, a distraction from my dilemma, and it seems these guys are up for the job.

Will my life always be turbulent, terrifying and tempting beyond belief? Nothing is certain in a world of vampires and shifters.

Thursday, October 9, 2014

Take a Peep at Kay's Voyeur

As anyone who has read my work will know, I love writing BDSM stories, and for some time prior to penning the mini- series Fantasy 13, I’d toyed with the idea of setting a piece within a specialist club, which I’d decided to paradoxically entitle, Discreet! The only thing holding me back was that I was at a loss for an original story angle.
About the same time, I was sat in a cafe (as ever!), covertly people watching. A woman about my age was frantically scribbling down a list. I assumed it was a shopping list; but then I began to wonder- what if it wasn’t? What if it was something more interesting? Maybe it was a list of all the things she wished her husband, lover or girlfriend would do to, or with, her?

There was no stopping my imagination once I’d had that thought. Within the hour I had created Mark, a business man who kept a secret notebook in which to compile all his darkest desires.  He doesn’t necessarily want to take part in any of these fantasies- he just wants to see them take place in front of him.  The ultimate voyeur!

Wealthy business man and committed voyeur, Mark Parker, has a list of thirteen fantasies he is intent on turning into reality. Travelling between his London flat, his plush Oxfordshire mansion, and Discreet, his favourite S&M club; Mark is helped to realise his imaginatively dark erotic desires by two loyal members of his staff. His Personal Assistant, Anya Grant, and his Housekeeper, Clara Hooper.

Upon the backs of his willing slaves, Mark has written out his fantasy list in thick red pen. Only Fantasy 12 awaits the tick of completion against their flesh before Mark’s ultimate fantasy – Fantasy 13- can take place.

But have the girls performed well enough to succeed in the final challenge? And what hold does the Bridge's Gentleman's Club, Anya's previous employer, have over Mark? A place Anya was only too delighted to escape from.

In order to find out, Mark’s girls are going to have to face some of the fantasies they thought they’d left behind them all over again; and while they do, Mark will watch...


As the blurb shows, the voyeur in question is Mark Parker, the owner of the multi-national company, Parker Software. I must admit, I was wary about writing a novel where the lead male character was wealthy and lived in a mansion. Even back in 2011, when I wrote The Voyeur, there are so many novels out there with exactly that premise. However, the only way that anyone would ever be able to employ two women to both help them run a company, and carry out their every sexual whim, not to mention be a member of an elite London Club (all of which were essential working to The Voyeur), would be to make them rich- so rich he had to be!

I was determined however, not to have any airs and graces to Mark Parker. He insists on the use of his first name amongst his staff, even from his willing slaves. He doesn’t dress in sharp suits, nor does he lounge around, contemptuous of his fellow man, in designer gear. In other words, Mark Parker is more interested in what other people are doing, wearing, and saying, than in himself- a true voyeur!

The real stars of The Voyeur however, are Anya Grant and Clara Hooper; Mark’s PA and housekeeper. It tells us how these two intelligent professional women came to be employed as his sex slaves, and how they survive carrying out the thirteen challenges that Mark has secretly written in his notebook, as well as listing down their backs in bold felt pen...


Here’s an excerpt from the very beginning of The Voyeur to whet your appetite...

His evening meal complete, Mark sat back, contentedly sipping his cup of strong black coffee. Pulling a small, battered notebook from his pocket, he read thoughtfully for a moment. His self-restraint, although immense, was beginning to run out. It was time for them to progress to the end of the list. Pressing the intercom button, Mark summoned his personal assistant, Anya, and his housekeeper, Clara, to the dining room.

The women arrived swiftly, both aware of the importance of not keeping Mark waiting. Standing on the opposite side of the highly polished dining room table, his employees braced themselves for the coming instructions.

‘I have decided that we will take a trip to Discreet this evening. We will turn our attention to the next fantasy on my list. Fantasy 12.’ Mark’s cool blue eyes deliberately weighed up the reaction of his staff as he delivered his news.

Discreet was the reason that Mark spent such a large proportion of his time in his London flat, rather than in his mini-mansion in Oxfordshire, where his software business was based. It was only at Discreet, the most exclusive of the city’s BDSM clubs, that his increasingly imaginative fantasies could be publically appreciated; most of which involved the observation of other people’s erotic aspirations. Mark Parker was the ultimate voyeur.

Trying hard not to exchange glances with her colleague, Anya could sense the stiffening of Clara’s body as they listened to their boss. She knew that Clara’s mind, like her own, would already be racing; madly trying to guess what Mark’s latest erotic scenario would involve. Having survived fantasies one to eleven, they already understood the nature of the challenges they were likely to experience during the evening that loomed ominously ahead.

‘Anya, you will be less delighted than Clara, perhaps, when I tell you that this trip is intended as a lesson for you; possibly a punishment.’

Forgetting herself for a second, the PA lifted her head and stared Mark squarely in the face.

His lips smiled; his eyes, however, did not. ‘You wonder why? Why, when you are forever questioning my instructions?’

‘But Mark, I …’ Anya stopped talking, aware that by asking why she was simply proving his point. She could feel her nipples hardening beneath her white shirt, as her employer continued to stare at her.

‘Oh my dear Anya, you may never question me out loud.’ Mark’s voice was velvety soft, yet the potential danger of disagreeing with him shone in his eyes. ‘But I know that you constantly query my actions by your reaction to them. Subconscious or not, it has to stop.’

Anya couldn’t believe it; she had always been so dutiful. The perfect assistant. The willing slave. How could Mark know she privately questioned her existence; her choice at being here with him and Clara, living this less than “ordinary” existence?

Clara was hovering uncomfortably next to Anya as Mark came closer. ‘Tonight,’ he said, pulling off Anya’s shirt and bra, exposing her luscious chest to the cool of the room, ‘you will both face a combination of experiences that together make up Fantasy 12. Won’t it be lovely to be able to tick another task from our list, girls?’

They didn’t answer; experience had taught them that nine times out of ten his questions were rhetorical.

Mark twisted the women round; removing Clara’s top as he did so, so he could see both his employees’ bare backs. There, in neat script, a permanent pen had been used to write “Fantasy 1”, “Fantasy 2” and so on, all the way down – the numbers following the length of their spines, finishing with the words “Fantasy 13”. The first 11 rows of black lettering had bright red ticks next to them.

‘Only two more tasks to go.’

This time the girls risked a fleeting glance at each other, exchanging a look of mutual blood-hammering exhilaration twinned with an erotic anticipation it would have been hypocritical to deny.

Mark, during his brief periods of leisure, had painstakingly detailed many lust-driven scenarios he wished to both direct and bring to life. He often wrote notes, accompanied by intricate diagrams of erotic, slightly disturbing, but ultimately satisfying fantasies, in a leather-bound journal that only he was allowed to read.

Anya and Clara knew that the final fantasy, when it came, would be both more difficult and different to anything they’d ever previous experienced. They feared it. They also longed for it. Mark was a clever man, for as each new task unfolded he pushed his faithful staff along with him, darkening their desires and needs closer and closer to his own. Making them as keen as he was to see how far they could go. To see how much they could physically take as they accompanied Mark on his journey of extreme sexual sightseeing.

A cold, clammy sheen of perspiration broke out on Anya’s face, arms, and breasts as Mark danced a finger across her skin. ‘You will both go to your room and change into the clothes I’ve placed upon your beds. You will remain there until I call you.’ Mark pointed to the door, and his employees headed to their small, twin-bedded room without a sound.

As she considered some of the things she and Clara had been required to do over the last six months, Anya privately reassured herself that the trepidation shooting down her spine was understandable and acceptable. It was also irrational, for she knew that Fantasy 12 might not only be tolerable, but enjoyable; and that just because the end of the list was in sight, it didn’t mean the night ahead would involve anything worse than she’d survived before. She could handle this. They both could – no problem.

Then Anya saw her outfit.

Her bed supported nothing but a leather dog collar...

If you’d like to find out exactly what happens once Anya puts on that dog collar, then you can buy The Voyeur as an e-book from Amazon UK,, and all good book and e-retailers.

Happy reading,
Kay xx


Kay Jaybee was nominated as the Best Erotica Writer of 2013 and 2014 by the ETO.

Kay wrote the The Perfect Submissive Trilogy, (Xcite, 2011-14), Making Him Wait, (Sweetmeats Press, 2012), The Voyeur (Xcite, 2012), as well as the novellas, Not Her Type: Erotic Adventures With A Delivery Man (2nd ed. 1001 NightsPress, 2013), Digging Deep (Xcite, 2013), A Sticky Situation, (Xcite, 2012), and The Circus, (Sweetmeats Press). 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 70 short stories published by Cleis Press, Black Lace, Mammoth, Xcite, Penguin, Seal, and Sweetmeats Press.

Details of Kay’s work, past, present and future can be found at
You can follow Kay on Twitter- kay_jaybee,
Brit Babes Site-

Thursday, September 18, 2014

Threesome Fun with Lily Harlem!

Well, excuse me but I just happen to like crowds! Actually I don't when it comes to everyday life. If I'm out shopping and get caught in a gust of people or I'm on the Tube being bustled along, I can feel quite panicked, more so since I've lived in the countryside and become used to having space around me. But when it comes to writing novels, and my characters falling in love and into bed, then yes, the more the merrier!

The first menage a trois book I read was Colter's Woman by Maya Banks. It's a fairly simple plot compared to some of the more complex novels I've read (and written) since. Three brothers who like to share one woman, and a woman - once over the initial shock of their desires - who has a great time!

It was the dynamics of the characters emotions that got me thinking and then spurred me onto write my first menage a trois novel, Shared. The plot idea came from a headline in the letting section of the local paper "Room to Let - Wanted Girl to Share." Me being me with my naughty mind started thinking what if two hot guys placed that advert, and like the brothers in Colter's Woman, really did want a girl to share in every sense of the word?


So Shared was born, and then Shared Too. The complexities of a polyamorous relationship was like a gift that kept on giving for me as an author, and although it's possible to leave off on a happy ever after, there is always going to be something to go back to with such an unconventional relationship.

So I've kept on writing my threesome stories and, I'm pleased to  say, readers have kept on reading them. It's something I really enjoy writing about. Making sure the men (because I usually go in the two guys and one girl route) are sufficiently different in their personalities and needs and the heroine is believable in how she handles and responds to her blokes.

I do know a threesome in real life. They live in the village and again it's two guys and a girl. Perhaps it's because I'm more open-minded than some people, (because of my writing and the erotica authors and readers I spend my days hanging out with online) that I didn't bat an eye when I saw them together at a BBQ - her holding his hand one minute and then sitting on the other's knee the next - but some of my friends were quite shocked by it - Mmm, maybe shocked is the wrong word, fascinated, enthralled, curious, it took up a good chunk of our 'wine and gossip time' at the local the next week!

Inquisitiveness is the reaction, I suppose, that makes menage a trois novels so popular. It's not a situation many women find themselves in, being loved and adored and satisfied by two men, so their lifestyle and choices are interesting to other women - I'm talking relationships here, not just a good old romp between the sheets.

Jealousy I think is one of the big hurdles for non-threesome type people to understand. "How can he not be jealous if the woman he loves is screwing another man?" Well, if he thinks it's hot to see them together he's going to have a great time, he might even join in  - a bit of double penetration always makes for a fun scene! Also if that's the plan, the agreement, and they all have reasons for this working for them individually as well as a group then it will be just fine.

The men might be into each other (this is the theme for my novels The Glass Knot and The Silk Tie). The men like each other too, they kiss, enjoy oral sex, fuck and she loves being part of the action. She likes to watch, get on top of them, beneath them, in-between them. Gorgeous naked guys who are into each other and getting down and dirty, are, let's face it, a seriously sexy thing to witness!

The men being into each other adds new twists to the story, to the way the characters interact and makes for a fabulous range of new sexual exploits. Of course they are all stories, but they could be real, these things could and do happen, but just not to the majority, so having novels to read about threesomes lets us all jump, vicariously, into bed with a couple of hot men even if it's just between the pages of a book!

Thanks for reading, do leave your thought on menage a trois in the comments below :-)

Lily x

Saturday, September 6, 2014

Kay Jaybee Takes Control

When I began to write erotica, ten years ago this year, I concentrated on writing short sexy stories. I was lucky enough to work for the much missed Oysters and Chocolate erotica web site, and during my time with them I penned dozens of tales, four of which appear in my anthology, Take Control.


Although I have moved on to scribbling out novels and novellas, I still love to pen the occasional tale of instant kink, and the fifth story in my collection, The Necklace, is a brand new piece of threesome S&M smut!
Published by 1001 NightsPress (the home of my incredibly kinky courier novella, Not Her Type), this fantasy collection is called Take Control: Stories of Male Domination/Female Submission

Take Control: Stories of Male Domination/Female Submission is a collection of toe curlingly sexy tales of bondage and female submission from the pen of best selling writer Kay Jaybee. From a spankingly delicious Dinner With Tess, to a Staged public sex fantasy, an unforgettable alfresco hosing in Deluged, a kinky scientific Experiment, and the realisation of a long held threesome fantasy in The Necklace, Take Control offers five bite sized stories that will satisfy any lover quality erotica.

Here's an extract from The Experiment...

They would follow his instructions to the letter. That was what she had claimed. Still, he was suspicious. It was probably all a con, a devious way of playing on his growing obsession. But it might not be – it might be genuine – he might get to see what he longed to see… 

A petite, traditionally dressed, stunningly beautiful Malaysian girl led him into a dimly lit room. The scientist dropped his briefcase next to a comfortable wing-backed armchair, behind which was a small but well-stocked bar. Suspended from the ceiling, a state of the art camcorder pointed forwards, poised and ready to record all that was to follow. Tastefully tame classical music was being piped into the room via a number of wall speakers; speakers which he hoped would reveal some far more interesting sounds in the very near future.

About a metre in front of the chair, a large picture window had been fitted neatly between that room and the next, creating both a theatre and private audience auditorium. A thick red curtain was drawn across the other side of the glass, so that as yet the voyeur could witness nothing from the space beyond.

The hostess, hovering by the bar, gestured to the various bottles of spirits with a questioning glance. He selected a whiskey and, shrugging off his jacket, waited as a triple measure of amber liquid was sloshed into a cut-glass tumbler. With the drink, the girl passed him a white envelope, on which was written The Story Thus Far.

He sat down, fumbling open the letter with hasty fingers, and his eyes devoured the words: Shortly you will see Gail and Jade. Both have been fully appraised as to your requirements. They have been placed within the neighbouring room, secured as per your instructions.

Before your arrival, again as you requested, the girls were subjected to considerable concentrated arousal to the breasts alone, and had nipple clamps applied. Both females are now desperate for further attention. We hope you enjoy the performance. Sit back, relax, and enjoy. The Malaysian girl bowed and left.

Making himself as comfortable as possible, he sat in the chair, satisfied that – so far, at least – his wishes had been carried out.

This whole thing was an experiment: an exercise to discover how much attention needed to be applied to a woman’s breasts alone before climax overtook the subject. Any resulting arousal of his own, he had convinced himself, was coincidental, and of secondary importance to the enquiry...


If you'd like to find out what happens next, you can buy Take Control from-

Happy reading everyone,

Kay xxx


Details of Kay’s work, past, present and future can be found at

You can follow Kay on Twitter- kay_jaybee,

Kay also writes contemporary romance as Jenny Kane –

Friday, September 5, 2014

Anything for Him by Lily Harlem and Natalie Dae

Chapter One

I stared at the photograph he’d emailed me. He’d promised he would and, finally, it had arrived.
It wasn’t what I’d expected; not that I thought for a minute he’d send me a copy of his passport photo; but this, this had really taken me by surprise. The odd angle of the camera lens and the overwhelming suggestiveness shocked me. It was deeply personal, completely voyeuristic and undoubtedly the most erotic image I had ever laid eyes on.
But it gave nothing away of the face I longed to see; yet, it told me so much about the man I’d been obsessing about for weeks. I reached over and clicked the printer to life. As it clanked through the setting-up motions, I leaned closer to my computer screen and allowed him to fill my vision.
His long, pale, black-hair-coated shin was in the forefront of the picture. The knee flopped wantonly towards the camera, making the patella the largest thing in the frame. His foot was out of shot. Beyond his leg, I could make out the right side of his torso – just – a small amount of lean waist, a hint at a taut set of ribs and a balled shoulder leading to what looked like a busy hand. I say busy, because he appeared to be jerking off, but of course, that could just be my filthy imagination.
His head was thrown back, his chin jutted upwards, his prominent Adam’s apple in profile against the bottle-green wall behind him. Other than his chin, not one facial feature could be identified, but what I saw of his chin, chiselled and dented at the centre, led me to believe the rest of his face would be angular and long.
Seedy shadows doused the whole image, the covers on the bed dusky green, almost brown, and the lighting, maybe shining through a cheap drawn curtain, was dim.
He seemed completely uninhibited despite the camera, which I guessed was on a timer. I gulped down a bite of bile as a sudden wave of regret at the photo I’d sent him rolled through me. I’d thought I was being sassy, original, beating him at his own game. But it was clear now that I played with someone who knew how to think out of the box, stay a step ahead, out-manoeuvre me without even needing to try.
The printer creaked to readiness and I hit the print button. I had to have his image in my hands, laser scanned, details ripe for scrutiny. As it whirred and heaved and slowly spat out the paper, I paced my office-cum-artist studio, frantically scratching the tops of my arms with my nails.
Damn that picture of my right areola. Not that it was a bad areola or a bad picture, it wasn’t. I was perfectly pert and the pixel count excellent. I had even rubbed an ice cube around my tight nub, before pulling it to a painful point, then, as a final creative flair, shined a spotlight on it. The dark room and bright light had made my wet skin golden, my nipple a rosy pink. The round-tipped point was blood-filled, the flesh leading to it wrinkled in an ordered, twisted way, as it strained to seek out more stimulation.
Damn that picture. His wasn’t exactly classy, but it was artistic, unique, risqué. Mine was just a token rude shot, though at least I’d resisted a shot of my newly shaved pussy. I would be in cringing hell right now if I’d followed through with that plan.
The next question was, of course, would we meet? We’d had a deal – if we liked the look of one another we would make arrangements for a date, a face-to-face encounter. Although, judging by the dirty routes our conversations had taken lately, I reckoned there would be considerably more than just our faces meeting. At least that was what I hoped.
So, my answer to ‘should we meet’ was a happy-dancing ‘yes’, my panties wet just from the sight of that bony shin and jauntily jutted head. The image of him alone, masturbating, thinking of me, possibly, had me so turned on my clit bobbed and my nipples were as tight as when they’d been treated to that ice cube.
But what about him? Would he think me unimaginative, boring, dull? The trouble was with Liuz, he was so articulate, so self-assured, and despite his first language being Polish, his mastery of English was excellent. Not that mine isn’t too. I’m a journalist, studied at Canterbury, and I’m also an artist, but somehow he always seemed to second guess what I was saying, or going to say, in my emails.
I held the newly printed-out photo in the air, the paper warm on my fingertips. I enjoyed having it A4 size, and peered closely.
I could make out the dark shafts of his leg hairs winding out of his skin, the creases on the sheet below his body wrinkled like ripples in water. Perhaps, also, I could make out a burn of black-fuzzed hair coming down in front of his ear, but I couldn’t be sure. It could be more of the stubble that coated his neck.
After retrieving a couple of drawing pins from a purple, sparkly pot on my desk, I hung Liuz’s image on my pin board, right in front of my desk. Where I could gorge on it; for when I looked at him, a fraction of the need, the burning want inside me, was sated.
Taking a deep breath, I did what I had to do next – check my in-box. We’re in the same time zone now that I’m back from my business trip to the United States, so he could have possibly seen it already. Plus, as a general rule he was at his computer. I wasn’t sure exactly what he did, but he worked from home. Marketing he’d said, something about buying and selling stock.
In-box. One new message.
From him.
I sucked in a breath and opened it. Those few seconds it took to process were absolute agony.
‘Your picture arrived.’
A rippling tightness in my guts had my belly tensing. Did he like it? Did he think I’d cheated by sending him so little to go on when he’d offered up so much? Given me such an honest picture that showed him vulnerable, a label I never would have given Liuz.
Quickly, I typed a response. Typical me, I avoided the pressing point. ‘So did yours.’
‘And what did you think?’
‘I think you look like you are enjoying yourself.’
‘Mmm, enjoying or just taking care of an urge? A necessary task, if you like.’
‘So which was it?’
‘Which would you rather it was?’
I hesitated for a moment, then decided to risk a knock-back. ‘I hope you were enjoying yourself. I hope you were thinking of me, imagining you were fucking me.’ I hit send and waited for a response.
One minute stretched into two.
I stood and flung open the window to the autumn morning. Immediately, sounds of the city filtered up. Car horns, bus engines, the shouts of the workmen several buildings down.
Another message. About bloody time.
‘I was thinking of you, but not about fucking you.’
‘What then?’
‘Ah, that’s for me to know and you to find out, Aniolku.’
I clicked my tongue against the roof of my mouth in frustration. He often did this, refused to answer something or turned it around on me. Also, if he knew he was playing coy, or being shifty, he’d nearly always add on ‘Aniolku’ at the end. I’d asked him what it meant a few weeks ago. He’d told me it was ‘angel’ in Polish. I’d laughed and said that surely by now he knew I was no angel. His reply was that was what made it such a perfect endearment for me.
‘Is that your bedroom?’ I asked, desperate to know more about the picture, and in turn, learn more about Liuz.
‘No, it’s my mate’s bedsit.’
‘Yeah, really.’
‘Did he take the picture?’
‘LOL, no, I was alone there. He just happens to have a nice camera.’
‘Wouldn’t he mind you spunking out on his sheets?’
‘I’m a big boy, I can control where I come. I’ve also heard of tissues.’
A rise of heat flushed over my chest, and I squirmed on the seat. Just the image of long, pearly jets of cum, spurting out onto that lean torso and dribbling into dark body hair, turned me on ridiculously. I could only imagine how his groans of pleasure would sound, how ragged his breaths would become, and what his sex-sweat would smell like, taste like.
I wanted to know all of these things for real. I wanted to know every tiny morsel of information about Liuz more than anything else I’d ever wanted to know.
There was an extended pause, then he typed, ‘Yours didn’t reveal much.’
‘I thought the idea was not to give too much away.’
‘You mean you were playing a game with me, and here was I thinking that we were just swapping honest photos of one another.’
‘Yours is hardly a mantelpiece portrait.’
‘Depends what else is on the mantelpiece.’
An image of his home came to my mind, created entirely in my imagination. He’d told me nothing other than that he lived in a mate’s bedsit in Brixton. Sharing or not, I wasn’t sure. But now, after seeing the photograph of his friend’s place, I visualised something painted in muted colours; moss green and muddy-puddle brown. Sparsely furnished with daylight penetrating curtains, bare bulbs. I don’t know why, but this image thrilled me so much more than the thought of a living space neat and ordered, pristine and thought-out. Liuz spent his time immersed in his work, head in his computer – well, either his work or indulging in teasing, flirting and sometimes downright rude talk with me – so I imagined his place would be functional rather than decorative.
‘OK, I should have given you more to go on,’ I typed back.
‘No worries, you have a nice tit. I can tell it would be a good handful and your nipple is perfectly suckable.’
I read that last line twice, and my areolas tingled deliciously at the thought of his mouth on me. Blood rushed to my entire breast, and my nipples pressed into my thin cotton bra. I circled my right nipple, the one on the photograph, over my clothes and allowed the stiffening sensation to bloom.
‘Would you like that?’ he replied before I could respond to his last email.
‘What else would you like, Aniolku?’
‘What else would you do?’
‘You mean after I curled my tongue around your nipples, stroked my hands over your breasts and fed you deep into my mouth, pulling you in, devouring you, making you moan for more?’
‘Yes, what else would you do?’
I had my hand inside my bra now, plucking and pulling at my nipple. I wished it was his hot mouth, hard and urgent, not gentle – rough and demanding was what I wanted, what I yearned for.
‘What would you want me to do?’ he asked.
Damn him always throwing questions back at me. I closed my eyes. I had to write something. I knew him well enough by now to know he wouldn’t respond until I did.
Once again an image flooded my mind. It was a lewd, sordid image of me, on my knees. A threadbare carpet beneath me and a bare light bulb above. I was naked, naked and submissive. Before me stood Liuz, tall, lean, golden-skinned, holding his cock towards my face. A beautiful cock, fat and generous in length, the glans engorged and the cleft below the head deep. I could see a drop of pre-cum nestled in the slit, and I could hear him telling me, ‘Lick it off, whore. Lick me, suck me. Do as I say.’
These images were new to me, sinfully wicked, and generated a well of guilt at what they suggested I really wanted, deep in my soul. But I couldn’t ignore them. Something about Liuz and the way he was with me had drawn rank thoughts and lusty needs to the surface; allowed them out to play, if only in my mind. It seemed they had moved in, for a while at least, and I couldn’t ignore them.
I settled my fingertips over the keyboard and nibbled on my bottom lip as I wondered what to write. Nothing too crude, but something a little edgy. Eventually I settled on, ‘Next I want you to pretend my mouth is your hand. Do what you did to yourself in the picture.’
‘You mean jerk into you hard and fast. I don’t wank like a delicate little flower, you know.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘I’d back you up against a wall and hold your head tight. Forge in and out without a thought for your breathing. After all, my hand doesn’t need to breathe, does it?’
My heart raced. ‘What else?’
‘I wouldn’t give a shit about whether or not your gag reflex was killing you. I’d ram down your throat, enjoying the wet tightness. And I’d shout at you too.’
My fingers shook as I typed. ‘What would you shout?’
Lust screeched around my system.
‘That you had to suck harder, open wider, then when I was about to come I would shout at you to swallow, to keep swallowing until I told you to stop. I would keep ramming into you until my bollocks were drained and my cock started to soften.’
I stroked my clit through the gusset of my leggings and gave in to a few deep rotations. I knew I would have to masturbate soon. The need was building, a carnal pressure that would soon require release. One-handedly I replied, ‘OK.’
There was long pause, which allowed me to fret myself to an ass-clenching state of arousal; then he answered, ‘We should definitely meet.’
I’d sneaked my devilish fingers into my panties now, and the glossy pea that was my clitoris took a hard and fast beating. Once again, I typed ‘OK’ then, as I hit send, I arched my back, reared my hips off the seat and allowed a sharp climax to take control. I panted through the waves of pleasure. I squeezed my eyes shut and once again visualised Liuz before me, thrusting his dick into my mouth, over and over and over.
Our meeting couldn’t come soon enough.

To continue reading please purchase Anything For Him.

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

What's better than one menage book?

Three of them bundled together of course!

3 in 1
United States Kobo Australia
Canada Smashwords, Worldwide United Kingdom
Germany Bookstrand
Genre: Paranormal/Shapeshifter/Humorous/MFM Romance
Get your freak on and fall in love with some special male shifters as they find their mate and claim her. Wild times in the jungle, inmate seduction, alpha males and awesome heroines. This huge bundle is a shifter lover’s delight featuring not just werewolves but big cat shifters as well.

Contains books 4,5 & 6 from the Freakn’ Shifters series

~ Human and Freakn’ – Forget the dangers of the jungle. In peril is Ruth’s heart when two hunky shifters become determined to claim her despite her humanity.

~ Jungle Freakn’ Bride – Hot, steamy threesomes, chauvinism and more are running wild in the jungle. Can you handle the heat?

~ Freakn’ Cougar – Forget taming their cougar. These hunks want her as is, even if she scratches.