Thanks
ever so Dawn much for inviting me along to your Reading Nook today!
I can’t
believe that four years have passed since I first wrote my first solo book, The
Collector- I am even more amazed that it has done well enough to be
re-released!! It’s like a dream come
true. Check out the new paperback cover!
The
Collector sits silently alone, engrossed in her tales of
lust, submission and dominance. Has she already engraved
your erotic exploits on her salacious list?
She
may look like she is scribbling randomly in her notebook,
but she is secretly listening to, and recording, the
overheard fantasies and indiscretions of others.
Forever
hungry for stories, when The Collector's sources
run dry, her appetite for tales of instruction and voyeurism
drives her to do some research of her own before
sharing her provocative experiments on paper.
It
is time for the worlds raunchiest chronicler
to come to light.
I was
sat in the departures lounge of Heathrow airport when the idea for The Collector came to me. I watched the
ever moving crowd, and began to wonder what each individual would want me to
write for them. What would their fantasies be? What kinky secrets of their own
would they share given half the chance?
It was
from these musings that the idea for The
Collector was born. A book of stories ‘collected’ by a woman in pursuit of
as many sexual exploits as she could. And what better way to start, than to
combine my own dream to one day be a successful writer of erotica, and the
fantasy of one of my other friends, who (like so many others, be they male or
female) visualises being picked up by a beautiful intelligent woman for sex in
a no strings attached way. This story became, New Territory, the first of the 21 stories within The Collector; a tale which had been
completely drafted by the time my plane reached its destination.
Here’s
a little taster for you...
New
Territory
It hadn’t seemed significant when he’d
noticed which page she’d left the colour supplement open at. Perhaps it wasn’t;
coincidences happened all the time. No. He saw now that it was no accident; she
had been trying to tell him something.
She
was sat at the corner table at the very back of the coffee shop. The armchairs
were rather comfortable in that area; he always tried to sit there. As he
worked his way along the queue, collecting an almond danish and ordering a
frighteningly large black coffee he watched her. Sitting slightly upright, she
was partially obscured by a copy of The Observer, her long booted legs curled
under the armchair, her red hair framing her small face. She was sipping a
cappuccino. He couldn’t help but smile as he watched her develop a foam
moustache, and quite uncaring, lick it off with her tongue. He looked away and
concentrated on his tray as he pushed towards the till. It was disconcerting to
find himself aroused by such a simple act. He paid, collected his sugar and
turned to find a seat.
He
could have sat anywhere, but she already felt like an itch needing a scratch.
He had to talk to her. So what if she told him to piss off, he was only going
to ask if he could share the table.
He asked and she
inclined her head, not glancing up for more than a second; so he sat. This was
new territory for him; he’d never felt such a need to say something, anything.
He was the good looking one; the one who never had to say anything. They came
to him. Now the silence seemed to be an
oppressive presence in itself, like a whole extra person in the room who wasn’t
saying anything.
This
was ridiculous. He picked up his own paper, folded it to the business pages and
took a bite of his pastry, trying not to mind that icing sugar was dusting his
new black jacket.
She’d
finished her drink. He flirted with the idea of offering to buy her a new one,
but quickly dismissed it. He hadn’t even said hello to her. So why did he feel
that time was running out? Why did he feel a strange sensation of panic that
she was going to leave before he’d heard her voice?
As
she unfolded her legs and tided her papers she picked up her large brown
rucksack, pulled out some keys and stood in front of him. He looked up into her
face. He was being assessed. It was a strange sensation; he usually did the
assessing.
‘Are
you coming then?’ She spoke very softly, her green eyes shining with a sort of
inner power.
He
was about to ask if she was sure, but she’d already turned around and was
heading for the door.
He
was well aware of the fact that he was probably about to make a total fool of
himself, but he followed anyway. She walked very quickly; striding along in
impossibly high heels. It hadn’t occurred to him until that point that she
might be a hooker. What if she was? He’d just walk away. Maybe?
He
followed as she turned down a gap between two shops. There was a flight of
black iron stairs that led up to a flat above one of them. She stopped. ‘Two
things,’ she undid her leather jacket as she spoke, hitching her scarf open to
reveal a delicate neck completely unadorned by jewellery, ‘one; I do not do
this for money, and two; I am not inviting you in for coffee.’
He
nodded, undid his own coat, and followed her up the steps.
The
hall was very narrow; it led into a modest kitchen diner, where she placed her
paper open the table. Sorting out the magazine, she opened it up as if she was
going to settle down to read, but then didn’t.
He
hadn’t got as far as making small talk. In fact he hadn’t even got as far as
attempting to make small talk, when she took him by the hand and led him into
the small living room, sitting him down on the small cream sofa. She knelt and,
placing a restraining hand on his leg, undid his shoes and placed them neatly
to one side. Then she did the same with his socks. ‘I don’t like naked in
socks.’
That
was when his body stopped making his hands clammy and his heart beat faster,
and sent all excess blood directly to his dick. He’d known he’d been half way
to a hard-on already, but now there was no disguising the fact.
‘You would be a
Coldplay man, or maybe Keane? Dido?’ She stood by the tiny stereo.
‘Dido.’
She nodded,
pressed buttons and waited as the haunting notes built up to the opening
number.
He should do
something. He tried to stand, but she just raised her hand, and he quickly sat
down again. Maybe this wasn’t his show; new territory.
She was standing
about two metres away from him. Her jacket had already hit the floor, and he
caught his breath as he watched her long slim fingers begin to undo the buttons
of her white blouse. She looked straight at him the whole time; each movement
was in time to the music, and he found himself wishing that he’d chosen
something with a faster pace.
His throat felt
dry as she revealed a beautiful cream bra. He could see her nipples, hard and
dark, pressing against the thin lace. He started to wonder how wet she would
be, and then stopped himself; if he started to think like that he’d shoot his
load before he even got his trousers off; if that was her intention. He’d never
felt so unsure of himself as she stepped out of her suede skirt, letting it
drop over her boots.
Now he desperately
wanted to touch. The smooth shoulders that had just been revealed cried out to
be caressed. Anyway, he was becoming uncomfortable; his cock was digging into
his waistband, as it struggled to force itself from his jeans unaided. He
should say something, but he didn’t want to break the spell.
She stopped. He
stared at the floor by her feet and worked his eyes slowly upwards. He tried to
imprint the vision before him onto his brain inch by inch. High heeled boots;
beige. Soft pale flesh emerging from lace hold ups; cream. Slightly see-through
French knickers; cream. ‘Keep going; try to drag your eyes away from the neat
silhouetted triangle your eyes can just make out’, he thought to himself as he
swallowed, continuing his inventory. A flat stomach with a neat belly button. A
cream lace bra encasing neatly rounded breasts which poked tantalisingly over
the top. He took a deep breath and looked at her face. Small features, bobbed
red hair, deep green eyes which gave absolutely nothing away.
The room was
charged with electricity; so enticing, so dangerous. She moved forward and
gestured for him to stand. He hadn’t been able to suppress his groan as he
stood. His stomach felt strange and his dick ached to be free from its
confinement.
He waited, doing
nothing. He didn’t know what to do, so he let her take control; keep control.
She took his belt first; pulling it out very slowly, loop by loop. She smoothed
the brown leather between her fingers. ‘I like belts’. That was all she said,
but he suddenly realised that he wanted to hit her with it. He needed to yank
down her knickers and punish her for being perfect.
She undid his
shirt next. His arms hung against his sides. He wanted to touch so badly, but
he sensed that that would screw things up. This ritual, so painfully slow, was
possibly the most erotic thing he’d ever seen.
When she kissed
his nipples he’d yelled. It was like someone placing an ice cube down his front
on a scolding day; wonderful, but totally agonising. Her mouth worked its way
across his tanned chest. His hands automatically went to hold her face, but she
took hold of them and kept them firmly by his sides, whilst her teeth began to
graze the skin above his jeans waist band.
He’d read about
women who could undo jean flies with just their teeth, but had dismissed them as
pornographic fantasy. It appeared that he was wrong. It took a very hard tug of
his jeans however to get them right down. His cock had swollen so much that it
was now stuck with its shiny red head sticking out of the top of his white
briefs. He would never forget that moment, it was the first time he saw her
smile as he flushed with embarrassment at his obvious need for her body.
‘No, don’t worry.
I think he looks gorgeous,’ and with that she’d yanked off his underwear and
stared with sheer lust, admiring him standing to attention before her. Never
before had he felt so utterly naked; so totally observed.
Her eyes flicked
to a small table by the sofa. A condom sat waiting. He nodded in silent
understanding, hope flooding through him.
She had begun to
quiver then. Perhaps she was real after all and not some incredible apparition
with iron clad self control. He watched amazed as she came in front of him,
without a single finger being laid on her. Power; she’d made him want her, and
that alone had got her off.
It hadn’t ended.
He feared for a split second that that might have been it, that might have been
enough for her, and his services were no longer required; but her hands came up
to him now and she’d pulled him close to her. In a quiet whisper of pleading
she said, ‘I seem to have been rather naughty,’ she glanced at the belt. ‘I
wonder if you would mind administering the punishment I am obviously due...’
My
search then began in earnest for interesting triggers, ideas, and sexy dreams,
to turn into stories. Some very short to stimulate the readers imagination,
such as Jay (a lesbian night club
orgy), others much longer, such as Sweets
(a must read if you like liquorice).
So- how
much of The Collector did I really
collect, and how many are made up? Are any made up? Well- that would be
telling, but if I haven’t thanked my sources of inspiration already, then I do
now!
The
re-launched The Collector paperback
is available from Amazon UK UK
Paperback:
eBook:
Huge
thanks again Dawn for letting me visit you today!
About the Author and links:
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), 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)
1 comment:
Thanks ever so much for letting me come and be 'The Collector' on your site today!! xx
Post a Comment