Voyeuristic
Fun!
Many thanks for letting me visit your
wonderful blog today!
One of the biggest attractions in the world
of erotica is voyeurism. That feeling of being on the edge of someone’s
forbidden world and peeping in- often secretly- is a big turn on. It is also
extremely exciting to write from a voyeuristic perspective. I’ve taken this
literary route for many of my novels and stories over the years- most obviously
for my erotic BDSM 3-some romance novel, The
Voyeur!
However, it isn’t that story that I’m going
to share a little bit with you today- but inspired by the arrival of a circus
in my local town this very day, it is my novella, The Circus.
When it comes to voyeurism the there is no
location more suitable than one with an auditorium- the theatre, ballet, opera-
or perhaps the circus.
As a child I always found the circus a
rather sinister place, full of scary clowns, overconfident acrobats, and fake
smiles. What better location then, to set a full throttle sexual showcase?
The
Circus is set in a crumbling decrepit theatre, where a business man with
strong voyeuristic leanings, has set up an exclusive event. A place where
fellow observers of the erotic arts, can pay an extortionate amount of money to
watch- and perhaps join in- a monthly display of BDSM antics.
Blurb
When
Carrie’s partner Scott buys her a ticket for the Circus, she isn’t at all sure
she will enjoy what she’ll see. An uncertainty that jumps to fear, when the
strict, whip wielding Ringmaster calls out Carrie’s ticket number, and she realises
she isn’t going to have to simply watch- she is to be the subject of the
bondage and punishment spectacle to come. What the hell will her boyfriend say?
And where is Scott anyway?
Extract
One hundred quid a ticket!
Carrie still couldn’t
believe Scott could afford to pay so much to secure her a seat in the small,
run-down theatre. It wasn’t as if she
was even guaranteed any action.
Everything was deliberately uncertain.
But then, as he had assured her, that was part of the attraction.
Perspiration was dotting
down the back of her neck, and the more Carrie thought, the more she wondered
if perhaps she didn’t actually want anything to happen. That it might be better just to watch, better
not to win the lottery that would change her from being a mere observer of
events to a prime player in the evening’s entertainment.
Even though the room was
packed, every thinly covered velvet seat taken, no one looked at anyone
else. No one regarded their
neighbour. No one gave a friendly smile
of greeting as they waited for something to happen. All eyes were focused towards the stage. There was a hushed buzz to the neglected
theatre, as if the ghosts of a thousand performances had been trapped within
the walls.
In the centre of the stage
sat a collection of left over props from dramas long past. At first glance it appeared to be merely
abandoned clutter, but as Carrie examined the items more shrewdly, she began to
suspect that everything had been carefully and cleverly placed.
An oak coffee table and
bench supported two legs of an iron-framed double-bed, which was devoid of
either linen or mattress. Next to the
sloping bed, heaped to the left side, a pile of old wooden chairs were
haphazardly stacked. On the opposite
side was a fallen umbrella stand, apparently tipped over by the weight of the
walking sticks, canes, and what Carrie suspected were Victorian style shooting
sticks. She felt her pulse quicken. You didn’t have to be Einstein to work out
what that lot could be used for.
Carrie could feel the heat
of her skin prickle beneath her chestnut ponytail. She sat wishing that Scott hadn’t been called
away on yet another dire work-related emergency, and that he could be there
with her. More than a little
self-conscious, she fidgeted with her outfit.
Playing safe, she’d decided to wear black. Black thigh length boots, black pleated mini
skirt, black stockings, and a black chest hugging lace-up basque, with strings
that only just managed to conceal the pale freckled chest over which it had
been stretched. She knew she looked like
a slutty walking cliché. But then again,
in this place, at this time, that was entirely the point.
The unnervingly tinny music
that had been droning from a speaker in the far corner of the room abruptly
stopped. Carrie could feel the tension
in the theatre double, and for the first time she allowed herself a fleeting
survey of the other members of the audience.
The competition. An almost even
split of about sixty men and women, all dressed as either Dominants or
Submissives, all aged between about twenty-five and forty-five. The room rippled with erotic anticipation.
When Scott had told her
about The Circus, the new show that had taken over the city’s long empty
theatre, Carrie had thought it really was a circus. A family show with clowns, scantily clad
acrobats, and the odd juggler. She had,
to his amusement, waxed lyrical about how much she’d loved the circus as a
child. She was soon disabused of her
naivety.
Increasingly aware of the
clammy sheen of nerves on her palms, Carrie still wasn’t quite sure how Scott
had talked her into coming here without him.
But her curiosity had gotten the better of her, just like he’d known it
would. He had insisted that, with her
private personal preferences, she would be in her element having her bum
smacked in front of a select group of eroticists. Carrie wasn’t so sure. Having her ass roundly whipped by Scott in
the sanctity of her flat while he ordered her to crawl around the floor was one
thing — but this was different. This was
voyeurism on speed. The almost animal
gleam to her lover’s eyes however, when he told her how much he was looking
forward to a blow-by-blow account of her experience, added an extra dimension
to the tingle of fearful anticipation that played in her stomach.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” a
gravelly masculine voice bellowed over a speaker system that crackled from the
effects of dust and lack of use.
“Welcome to The Circus. I would
ask you all to abide by your hosts decisions, and only mount the stage if and
when you are invited to do so. Sit back
and enjoy. It’s show time!!”
There is no denying the attraction of
stories with voyeurism as their base. The basic curiosity within so many of us
makes it a salacious idea – the thought of might we might see if we were to peer behind closed doors, or peek through that key hole- especially if we have
the sneaky feeling that those within secretly want to be
observed....DELICIOUS!!
Many thanks once again for letting me visit
her site again today!!
Happy reading everyone,
Kay Jaybee xxx
Meet the Author
Kay Jaybee wrote
the novels, The Perfect Submissive
Trilogy, (Xcite, 2011-2014), 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 Take Control (1001
Nightspress, 2014), Christmas Kink
(KDP, 2013) 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 80 short
stories published by Cleis Press, Black Lace, Mammoth, Xcite, Penguin, Seal,
and Sweetmeats Press.
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