The Birth of The Collector by Kay Jaybee (@kay_jaybee)
…What I really loved about this book was the fact it all felt very real. The author herself admitted that there are embellishments on some of the stories, and that some have come purely from her imagination. But what makes it so interesting is the fact that the erotic escapades between the covers of the book could happen.
The tales aren’t about desert islands or exotic places we can only dream about. It could be real. Your neighbour could be doing it. Your colleagues could be doing it. That woman in the supermarket. Anyone, anywhere. And for me, that made it very, very sexy… (Review by Erotica For All)
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 sort of sexy story 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?
From these musings the outline of The Collector began to form in my mind. A book of stories ‘collected’ by a woman in pursuit of as many sexual exploits as she could.
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 world’s raunchiest chronicler to come to light.
I wanted to produce a work that could introduce first timers to the erotica genre to its huge variety of styles and tastes; while also giving the connoisseur of erotica some satisfying bursts of kink. The result was a linked anthology- 21 different tales, all of which have a brief introduction from ‘the collector’ about how she acquired them.
The first story in The Collector was written on the aeroplane, only an hour after I’d had the initial idea for the book. Having hastily called a friend to check that the fantasy he had confided in me some years before still ‘did it’ for him, I combined his sexiest dream with my own dream, to one day be a successful writer of erotica – and New Territory was born…
Here’s a little taster for you…
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.
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…
Once I’d returned home from my travels, my search for interesting story triggers, ideas, and sexy dreams began in earnest. So- how much of The Collector did I really collect, and how many stories were 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 Collector (pub. Austin & Macauley) paperback and e-book is available from-
Kay Jaybee was nominated as the Best Erotica Writer of 2013 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 www.kayjaybee.me.uk
You can follow Kay on Twitter http://www.twitter.com/kay_jaybee
Brit Babes Site http://thebritbabes.blogspot.co.uk/p/kay-jaybee.html
Kay also writes contemporary romance as Jenny Kane www.jennykane.co.uk