Zak Jane Keir writes about subjects close to my heart. I, for one, will be taking a wander through her erotic works and lose myself in the intricacies of each raunchy, well written story. Won’t you come and join me on this appetising adventure?
– Cara Sutra
Zak Jane Keir has been writing about sex, on and off, for over 20 years. She has written for Forum, Desire, Swingmag, For Women and Filament, among others, and had fiction published in Fiesta Digest and Erotic Stories in the past. She has also been a phone sex operator and worked for a ‘sexy texting’ company, which has provided her with a few additional ideas.
She has also spent a lot of time on both the fetish and swinging scenes, for personal and professional reasons, and was involved in setting up the Guild Of Erotic Writers in the 1990s. After a bit of a break from fiction, for various reasons including parenthood, she got back into it when the Nexus brand of erotic fiction was relaunched as a digital list following the success of That Book We Won’t Mention. She has contributed to several Nexus anthologies and her current novel Black Heart is also published by Nexus. She prefers to write femdom fiction, and finds that her favourite characters tend to be immersed in kink or at least have unconventional lifestyles.
Current books/anthologies available:
Spanked, edited by Peter Birch (anthology)
Silk & Strangers, edited by Peter Birch (various authors anthology of stories on swinging)
Current blog, awaiting a new blog/website in the immediate future!
From Black Heart. In this scene, Madame Natasha has decided to take Daniel, a novice sub with a crush on his employer Rosa, in hand for a beating – with Rosa’s full knowledge. However, Daniel doesn’t know that the women are plotting together.
She was standing behind him, and as he closed his eyes he felt her run a hand over the cheeks of his arse, a slow, leisurely movement that made him feel shivery. Then came the first smack, an instant of heat, an immediate impact, and then another, on the other buttock, a stark little shock with a warm afterglow. There was another, then another, then a whole lot more. The steady, rhythmic smacking made him ache and tingle all over.
She said that she’d thought about giving him a caning, but decided against it, and he wasn’t sure if he was glad or sorry. There was a delicious warmth growing, his bottom was glowing with it and he knew he didn’t want it to stop. But then there was a little pause and he stayed where he was, panting.
‘I didn’t even bring a cane,’ she said. ‘I brought this, though.’
She hit him once with it, something hard and flat, harder and flatter than her hand, and he gasped.
‘Just a paddle, just a medium paddle, OK?’ she was saying as she laid it on again.
He was gripping the sides of the table, beginning to drift into another place, another state of mind.
‘OK, do it,’ he heard himself say, and she did. Blow after blow, administered dispassionately, or so it seemed, whack after whack with the cumulative effect making him bite his lips and then groan with pleasure, because it was pleasure. The intensity of the sensation seemed to spread through the whole of his body, and he felt himself moving his hips, wriggling, his cock a blazing rod, and he moaned out loud. Eyes shut, he endured the beating, he embraced it, revelled in it, as she struck him again and again and again. Somehow he couldn’t imagine fucking her, much as he ached for the release of an orgasm. He pictured himself kneeling at her feet, kissing her quim, or having her sit on his face while he worked on himself, and then she pressed up close behind him. His legs were slightly parted, and he could feel her leaning against him, the heat of her thighs and her groin: she must have lost the skirt or taken it off or something. She was rubbing and rocking against the crack of his arse, and suddenly his head was filled with the idea of her taking him, fucking him there, using a dildo or vibrator or something to enter and claim him. She was holding him by the hips, digging her nails in, and he wanted the penetration, thought of asking for it, pleading for it, prevented only by the idea that she wouldn’t or couldn’t do it.
She stepped back, and wielded the paddle again, delivering a couple of hard, stinging swipes to his throbbing bumcheeks, and that was the point when he raised his head momentarily and opened his eyes, and saw Rosa. She’d just slipped in through the door between the two bars, and she looked at him, and she saw him, bent over, being thrashed and clearly loving it, and then she stepped back through the door and disappeared. Madame Natasha only had to hit him three more times before he came, and the climax was huge, unstoppable, toppling him face down on the table, nearly overturning it and spurting, squirting, masses of jizz exploding out of him When it was over he stayed where he had landed, trembling, craving a touch or even a kiss: a little reassurance. Instead, he heard her high heels clicking in retreat.
‘Better make sure you clean up your mess, hadn’t you?’ she said, and then she was gone.
– Zak Jane Keir