Mia Jae's Blog

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Hello. This is Mia. Thanks for stopping by to visit my web site.

Before you make your first click into the site, I want you to know that everything within is intended for adults -- that means, everything here is written for people who are over 18 years of age.

If you are 18 and over, you are welcome to join me and learn more about my writing.

If you are under the age of 18, please go away. Click out of the site now. And go wash your hands before dinner. Your mama is callin'.

Even if you are over the age of 18, it is entirely possible that you may read content within that you find questionable. I respect your right to that opinion, and hope you respect my right to write and share them for those who will appreciate them. Your view of questionable may not be the view of many others. Remember that clicking further into my site is your choice.

I write erotic romance and erotica. My stories are highly sexual in nature, and sometimes include BDSM elements, menage and multiple partners, and same sex relationships. I think they are all beautiful stories, one and all.

You click? Your choice. Welcome to my world.
Click HERE to enter and see my books.

Hi. This is Mia.

Before you make one more click into my site, I want you to know that everything within is intended for adults -- that means, everything here is written for people who are over the age of 18 years.

If you are 18 and over, you are welcome to join me and learn more about my writing.

If you are under the age of 18, please go away. Click out of the site now. And go wash your hands before dinner. Your mama is callin'.

And even if you are over the age of 18, it's entirely possible that you may find content within that you find questionable. Just know this -- it's your view of questionable and not that of many others. You click further, it's your choice. I'm giving you fair warning.

I write erotic romance and erotica. My stories are highly sexual in nature, and sometimes include BDSM elements, menage and multiple partners, and same sex relationships. I think they are all beautiful stories, one and all.

You click? Your choice. Welcome to my world.
Click HERE to enter.

I Don't
Book Two, in Bachlorette Party 101

Lainie Wells will get married. She will, she will, she will. It's perfect. He's perfect. Her life will be perfect. Bleh, bleh, bleh.

Thoroughly confused and utterly disgusted with herself, and life in general, she's resigned to impending marriage (and a fantastic bachelorette party). Besides, her sister Mary Kate has everything planned and her father has footed an astronomical bill.

She will, she will, she will.

And she keeps saying that all the way up to the point where, in a moment of boredom, she ditches the party to escape to a place where she always felt like herself—the gay bar down the street—and where she hooks up with an old best friend José, and her ex-lover, Simon, who takes the stage during the drag show, links gazes with her and won't let go.

Suddenly, "I do" feels more like "I don't"…unless she ends up saying "I do" to what both José and Simon have to offer.

Now at Amazon . Resplendence Publishing . Barnes and Noble . All Romance Ebooks.

The Bachelorette Party 101 Series!

I Betcha

Now available at Resplendence Publishing.
Amazon Kindle . All Romance ebooks

Mary Kate Wells refuses to admit that she's innocent. She has had sex, she's here to tell you. But the truth is, when Johnny the Stripper calls the day of the bachelorette party to confirm his appointment later that night, the sound of his voice saying, "Hi, Mary. My name is Johnny, and I'll be your stripper this evening," jerks her libido into full-speed ahead like nothing she's ever felt before. And then when Johnny arrives with his twin brother Shawn at his side, the fire in her gut can only be put out by one thing—no wait, two. In her ear she hears her sister chiming, "I betcha won't, I betcha won't." And determined to be her own woman, she bets she will.

Chapter One

So here's the thing. I'm not that innocent, not really. I mean, I've had sex before. I graduated college, right? I've been to spring break in Florida. I frequented fraternity parties. I've drank more than my share of Purple Passion hooch and ended up waking the next morning in some frat guy's bed—without my shirt.

And panties.


Yeah, me, Mary Kate Wells, naked in some guy's bed.

Well, twice.

The first time I won't talk about. The second time, well….

Well, the guy wasn't there. He'd slept on the couch in the next room. How was I to know, actually, what happened while I was passed out?

I won't even mention that the guy was Brent Sollars, who grew up just down the street from me in the Highlands section of Louisville. We even went to the same Catholic school. Once in seventh grade, he tried to kiss me.

I pushed back and glared at him, threatened to tell Sister Angeline (our teacher), and that was the end of Brent Sollars' crush on me. So, the fact that I'd slept passed-out drunk all night in his bed, without my shirt and panties, probably wasn't saying much at all.

Still, it was sort of risqué and he had made that comment about my perky titties the next day in Psych class, so maybe he'd snuck a peek, or even copped a feel…who knows?

I wonder if I had fun?

The deal is, I'm telling you this because my older sister, Lainie, thinks I'm the world's most pristine, squeaky-clean kind of girl. And she's really uncertain whether or not I can actually pull off the most fantabulous near-skanky, but leaning toward upscale, bachelorette party ever this side of the Ohio River. Lainie, of course, is the bride.

And she wants it all—sexy, raunchy, wild and completely undone—but in a very tasteful and respectable manner, of course.

I am here to tell the world that I can pull this thing off.

After all, I hired the stripper. Over the Internet.

And I went to the adult novelty store over in the south side of town and bought the big red suckers that have "Lick Me" written on them, the pocket pussy gag gift, and the penis straws.

Oh, and I actually made the penis cake. Put that food science degree to good use, I did. I found a recipe on the Internet that provided explicit instructions for how to add the cream so it would shoot out the tip just right, with the first slice of the knife. I had a difficult time finding just the exact pinkish, flesh-toned shade of fondant that I needed, but finally did—on the Internet, too. It was awesome. I even made a test cake the week before to make sure it would work.

It did.

I nearly had an orgasm myself while I was making it.

I mean, food and sex, well… I really dig the two, and together. Wow! Pow. Slam. Bam. And thank you, ma'am. I'm an orgasmic mess.

So really, I can pull this off. Lainie has only given me one huge stipulation with this party. Okay, well, two. It has to make the news—in a positive way (and Lainie always has to be shown in her best light), and we have to keep the bad pics off Facebook (you know, because of our grandmother, who recently discovered the whole social networking thing).

Now, the party. It's later tonight, and since my sister, at twenty-five years of age, remains a young Louisvillian socialite—I mean, really and truly a Southern Belle debutante of the first order—this party is a huge deal. Huge! She was U of L Homecoming Queen, a Derby Princess for two years straight, and attended the Barnstable-Brown Derby Party on several occasions (where she actually met Brad Pitt in 2008).

Me? I'm more of a line-dancing, margarita girl. I mean, I love to dress up and all that, but big fancy, la-de-da socialite crowds get to me. Give me jeans and tequila any day. Or a Bud Light with lime.

Lainie has done everything letter perfect her entire life. Now, she owns this upscale jewelry shop downtown, located in the historic Seelbach Hotel, where we are actually having the bachelorette party in a few hours.
That's where we will start anyway.

We've got this huge suite reserved—so we can get dressed and ready for the party, have a few drinks and a little pre-party fun (enter the stripper) and then go out on the town—4th Street Live, and Theater Square Marketplace, and then Connection, you know, for the drag show—and come back and crash after the party and drink some more.

Because we all do plan to get drunk. Some of us might even get laid. Who knows?

All I know is that I have the penis cake and a couple of boxes of condoms just in case.

Always the girl ever at the ready, that's me.

***

Coming in 2011, books two and three in The Bachelorette Party 101 Series

I Don't
I Want


See my 4 Star Review at Sizzling Hot Books Reviews!

The Bachelorette Party 101 Series!

I Betcha

Now available at Resplendence Publishing.
Coming soon to your favorite retailers!

Mary Kate Wells refuses to admit that she's innocent. She has had sex, she's here to tell you. But the truth is, when Johnny the Stripper calls the day of the bachelorette party to confirm his appointment later that night, the sound of his voice saying, "Hi, Mary. My name is Johnny, and I'll be your stripper this evening," jerks her libido into full-speed ahead like nothing she's ever felt before. And then when Johnny arrives with his twin brother Shawn at his side, the fire in her gut can only be put out by one thing—no wait, two. In her ear she hears her sister chiming, "I betcha won't, I betcha won't." And determined to be her own woman, she bets she will.

Chapter One

So here's the thing. I'm not that innocent, not really. I mean, I've had sex before. I graduated college, right? I've been to spring break in Florida. I frequented fraternity parties. I've drank more than my share of Purple Passion hooch and ended up waking the next morning in some frat guy's bed—without my shirt.

And panties.

Yeah, me, Mary Kate Wells, naked in some guy's bed.

Well, twice.

The first time I won't talk about. The second time, well….

Well, the guy wasn't there. He'd slept on the couch in the next room. How was I to know, actually, what happened while I was passed out?

I won't even mention that the guy was Brent Sollars, who grew up just down the street from me in the Highlands section of Louisville. We even went to the same Catholic school. Once in seventh grade, he tried to kiss me.

I pushed back and glared at him, threatened to tell Sister Angeline (our teacher), and that was the end of Brent Sollars' crush on me. So, the fact that I'd slept passed-out drunk all night in his bed, without my shirt and panties, probably wasn't saying much at all.

Still, it was sort of risqué and he had made that comment about my perky titties the next day in Psych class, so maybe he'd snuck a peek, or even copped a feel…who knows?

I wonder if I had fun?

The deal is, I'm telling you this because my older sister, Lainie, thinks I'm the world's most pristine, squeaky-clean kind of girl. And she's really uncertain whether or not I can actually pull off the most fantabulous near-skanky, but leaning toward upscale, bachelorette party ever this side of the Ohio River. Lainie, of course, is the bride.

And she wants it all—sexy, raunchy, wild and completely undone—but in a very tasteful and respectable manner, of course.

I am here to tell the world that I can pull this thing off.

After all, I hired the stripper. Over the Internet.

And I went to the adult novelty store over in the south side of town and bought the big red suckers that have "Lick Me" written on them, the pocket pussy gag gift, and the penis straws.

Oh, and I actually made the penis cake. Put that food science degree to good use, I did. I found a recipe on the Internet that provided explicit instructions for how to add the cream so it would shoot out the tip just right, with the first slice of the knife. I had a difficult time finding just the exact pinkish, flesh-toned shade of fondant that I needed, but finally did—on the Internet, too. It was awesome. I even made a test cake the week before to make sure it would work.

It did.

I nearly had an orgasm myself while I was making it.

I mean, food and sex, well… I really dig the two, and together. Wow! Pow. Slam. Bam. And thank you, ma'am. I'm an orgasmic mess.

So really, I can pull this off. Lainie has only given me one huge stipulation with this party. Okay, well, two. It has to make the news—in a positive way (and Lainie always has to be shown in her best light), and we have to keep the bad pics off Facebook (you know, because of our grandmother, who recently discovered the whole social networking thing).

Now, the party. It's later tonight, and since my sister, at twenty-five years of age, remains a young Louisvillian socialite—I mean, really and truly a Southern Belle debutante of the first order—this party is a huge deal. Huge! She was U of L Homecoming Queen, a Derby Princess for two years straight, and attended the Barnstable-Brown Derby Party on several occasions (where she actually met Brad Pitt in 2008).

Me? I'm more of a line-dancing, margarita girl. I mean, I love to dress up and all that, but big fancy, la-de-da socialite crowds get to me. Give me jeans and tequila any day. Or a Bud Light with lime.

Lainie has done everything letter perfect her entire life. Now, she owns this upscale jewelry shop downtown, located in the historic Seelbach Hotel, where we are actually having the bachelorette party in a few hours.
That's where we will start anyway.

We've got this huge suite reserved—so we can get dressed and ready for the party, have a few drinks and a little pre-party fun (enter the stripper) and then go out on the town—4th Street Live, and Theater Square Marketplace, and then Connection, you know, for the drag show—and come back and crash after the party and drink some more.

Because we all do plan to get drunk. Some of us might even get laid. Who knows?

All I know is that I have the penis cake and a couple of boxes of condoms just in case.

Always the girl ever at the ready, that's me.

***

Coming in 2011, books two and three in The Bachelorette Party 101 Series

I Don't
I Want

The Bachelorette Party 101 Series!

I Betcha
Coming April 2011

Mary Kate Wells refuses to admit that she's innocent. She has had sex, she's here to tell you. But the truth is, when Johnny the Stripper calls the day of the bachelorette party to confirm his appointment later that night, the sound of his voice saying, "Hi, Mary. My name is Johnny, and I'll be your stripper this evening," jerks her libido into full-speed ahead like nothing she's ever felt before. And then when Johnny arrives with his twin brother Shawn at his side, the fire in her gut can only be put out by one thing—no wait, two. In her ear she hears her sister chiming, "I betcha won't, I betcha won't." And determined to be her own woman, she bets she will.

Chapter One

So here's the thing. I'm not that innocent, not really. I mean, I've had sex before. I graduated college, right? I've been to spring break in Florida. I frequented fraternity parties. I've drank more than my share of Purple Passion hooch and ended up waking the next morning in some frat guy's bed—without my shirt.

And panties.

Yeah, me, Mary Kate Wells, naked in some guy's bed.

Well, twice.

The first time I won't talk about. The second time, well….

Well, the guy wasn't there. He'd slept on the couch in the next room. How was I to know, actually, what happened while I was passed out?

I won't even mention that the guy was Brent Sollars, who grew up just down the street from me in the Highlands section of Louisville. We even went to the same Catholic school. Once in seventh grade, he tried to kiss me.

I pushed back and glared at him, threatened to tell Sister Angeline (our teacher), and that was the end of Brent Sollars' crush on me. So, the fact that I'd slept passed-out drunk all night in his bed, without my shirt and panties, probably wasn't saying much at all.

Still, it was sort of risqué and he had made that comment about my perky titties the next day in Psych class, so maybe he'd snuck a peek, or even copped a feel…who knows?

I wonder if I had fun?

The deal is, I'm telling you this because my older sister, Lainie, thinks I'm the world's most pristine, squeaky-clean kind of girl. And she's really uncertain whether or not I can actually pull off the most fantabulous near-skanky, but leaning toward upscale, bachelorette party ever this side of the Ohio River. Lainie, of course, is the bride.

And she wants it all—sexy, raunchy, wild and completely undone—but in a very tasteful and respectable manner, of course.

I am here to tell the world that I can pull this thing off.

After all, I hired the stripper. Over the Internet.

And I went to the adult novelty store over in the south side of town and bought the big red suckers that have "Lick Me" written on them, the pocket pussy gag gift, and the penis straws.

Oh, and I actually made the penis cake. Put that food science degree to good use, I did. I found a recipe on the Internet that provided explicit instructions for how to add the cream so it would shoot out the tip just right, with the first slice of the knife. I had a difficult time finding just the exact pinkish, flesh-toned shade of fondant that I needed, but finally did—on the Internet, too. It was awesome. I even made a test cake the week before to make sure it would work.

It did.

I nearly had an orgasm myself while I was making it.

I mean, food and sex, well… I really dig the two, and together. Wow! Pow. Slam. Bam. And thank you, ma'am. I'm an orgasmic mess.

So really, I can pull this off. Lainie has only given me one huge stipulation with this party. Okay, well, two. It has to make the news—in a positive way (and Lainie always has to be shown in her best light), and we have to keep the bad pics off Facebook (you know, because of our grandmother, who recently discovered the whole social networking thing).

Now, the party. It's later tonight, and since my sister, at twenty-five years of age, remains a young Louisvillian socialite—I mean, really and truly a Southern Belle debutante of the first order—this party is a huge deal. Huge! She was U of L Homecoming Queen, a Derby Princess for two years straight, and attended the Barnstable-Brown Derby Party on several occasions (where she actually met Brad Pitt in 2008).

Me? I'm more of a line-dancing, margarita girl. I mean, I love to dress up and all that, but big fancy, la-de-da socialite crowds get to me. Give me jeans and tequila any day. Or a Bud Light with lime.

Lainie has done everything letter perfect her entire life. Now, she owns this upscale jewelry shop downtown, located in the historic Seelbach Hotel, where we are actually having the bachelorette party in a few hours.
That's where we will start anyway.

We've got this huge suite reserved—so we can get dressed and ready for the party, have a few drinks and a little pre-party fun (enter the stripper) and then go out on the town—4th Street Live, and Theater Square Marketplace, and then Connection, you know, for the drag show—and come back and crash after the party and drink some more.

Because we all do plan to get drunk. Some of us might even get laid. Who knows?

All I know is that I have the penis cake and a couple of boxes of condoms just in case.

Always the girl ever at the ready, that's me.

Passionate Exhibitions Anthology
by Turquoise Morning Press Authors

Museums. Places of grandeur and mystery, hidden corners and secrets. Walk the halls of any museum and find a past life in a necklace, an alternate reality in a painting, a terrible curse from a statue, or your wildest fantasies come to life. From the distant past to the far-flung future, these stories will titillate and tantalize. Welcome to the Passionate Exhibition.

Stories included are:

Under The Lion’s Curse by Kim Knox
Dragon Rodeo by Ella Drake
Worshiping His Goddess by Voirey Linger
Good Vibrations by Mia Jae
Portrait of Passion by Maggie Wells
The Duke by Darby York
Virtual Encounters by Lexie Donovan
Human Touch by Evelyn Jules

Here's an excerpt from my story GOOD VIBRATIONS--


San Francisco. The thought calls up images of painted Victorian ladies, Alcatraz, and the Bay. In twenty minutes we’ll be boarding our plane and heading west. It can’t come soon enough for me. I am in dire need of a break in the action.My best friend, Mandy, and I had been looking forward to this trip for some time. It was a getaway, of sorts, an escape from the regularly scheduled humdrum. We worked two blocks away from each other in downtown St. Louis and frequently used our lunch hours to scour websites of the city looking for things to do while there. We’d schemed for months to accumulate enough vacation days and cash, to make the trip a reality.I was most interested in getting out of this land-locked, Midwest city for a few days and playing tourist along the coast—you know, China Town, the Golden Gate Bridge, Fisherman’s Warf, and of course, sucking in a lot of salty ocean air and scarfing down seafood. Mandy, on the other hand, who is more the free spirit type, had investigated every inch of the Haight-Ashbury district via Google aerial maps and more, and couldn’t wait to do something even naughtier than usual. The bohemian in her beckoned. I suppose she needed to scratch that itch.Anyway, we eventually agreed on just about everything to do and see—with one exception. I didn’t want to go to the antique vibrator museum.That just wasn’t on my bucket list.Too embarrassing. Felt to…um, personal. I mean, how could one stand and look at those things and act nonchalant, like it was a toothbrush or a toaster?Mandy insisted, however, and she can be quite convincing. So we are going.This makes me nervous.I mean, I can’t even admit to Mandy that I owna vibrator. It’s a cute pink little job with bunny ears that goes for, like, hours, and after I’ve had a very stressful day, does wonders to change my mood.I mean wonders.I’m sort of addicted.But I’ve never even told Mandy. And we don’t have many secrets.We just don’t talk much about sex.Well. I don’t talk about sex.Mandy is one of those girls who doesn’t really give a shit about what she says, and everyone knows pretty much what and who pleases her. If her boyfriend, Jack-who-is-hung-like-a-fucking-elephant (as she refers to him), is out of town, she’ll share at lunch how she got off with her twelve-inch black dong that she bought on Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras. And I mean she tells every detail.I really don’t care to know this. TMI.Then, there are days I wish I could be more uninhibited, like her. It’s really odd to think we are such opposites in this department because we’ve spent sooooo much time together.It is a miracle we are friends, but we have been for years—since kindergarten, actually. I’ve had her back and covered her butt numerous times during our friendship and, well, I sort of love her.“Have you hit the Good Vibrations website yet, Sari?”My cheeks got hot.“Ah. You have.” She grinned that temptress, side-ways grin that I love. “Sari, you’re twenty-five for God’s sake. You don’t have to blush every time I mention something that hints of sex!”“I didn’t blush.” I know full well that I did. “It’s hot in here.” I pick at my sub sandwich. We’d stopped just short of the gate to eat before getting on the plane.“Liar.” I jerk my head up to look at Mandy. She’s still pleased as punch, like she’d just gotten some guys rocks off with a quick blow job.She loves giving head and pleasing. Loves a conquest, too. Yeah, I know this about her.I fold up my sandwich, toss it in the trash, and stand. “C’mon. I think I heard our gate announcement.” I leave her there, while I contemplate Mandy giving some guy head. It makes me jealous. I want it to be me.***AMAZON - BARNES AND NOBLE - KOBO - SMASHWORDSTURQUOISE MORNING PRESS

Back to My Books.

Four erotic holiday stories guaranteed to heat up your cold winter nights...

Bound by Tinsel by Melinda Barron When BBW court reporter, Fallon Nichols, decides to moonlight as a phone sex artist, she's surprised by her feelings for her dominant customer, Mr. X. Can she maintain a professional distance, or will Mr. X's determination and a bit of tinsel wrap her up for good?

Lust, Lies and Tinsel Ties by Mia Jae Bree Connor thinks she's volunteered to be a cocktail waitress at a benefit party for the homeless, until the end of the night when she gets auctioned off to the highest bidder. Her buyer? The the partner of the man Bree had an unforgettable sexual encounter with a few months earlier, and has been avoiding all evening. Oh, what a tinseled web we weave...

Ribbons Not Included by Demi Alex It's Christmas, and I'm searching for the perfect present to convince Christian that he's my number one priority. I'm trying everything to spice up our love life-- from sexy lingerie, to new positions, to different locations. But then he pushes me too far. I shiver with the thrill of being exposed, really exposed, I'm not sure I can do it.

The Elves and I by Catrina Calloway Spoiled heiress, Marni Sands, figures she can maneuver out of her court-ordered community service in Christmas Town. That is, until she meets three sexy elves who want to change her life forever...

Get yours at Amazon.

Cuffed, Again
by Mia Jae

Available now at Resplendence Publishing
www.resplendencepublishing.com

Cerise Thacker is in trouble. Her Chief Financial Officer is cooking her books. The detective working her case fears the guy's family will come after her, particularly, since the CFO states he will "fucking see to her death." So, under duress, she's whisked away in a Yellow Cab into a short-term protection program to keep her safe. The cabbie? Isaac Walker, undercover cop. For the duration, Isaac is her protector, even though protection is the last thing she wants.

Isaac knows he's in trouble, too. He and Cerise are no strangers. They'd shared a role play domme/sub encounter about a year earlier, neither of them revealing who they were. Now, thrust together in a situation of extreme danger and passion, Isaac must remain in control of the situation at all costs, even though he so very much wants to give it up to Cerise.

And Cerise, must do everything that he says to the letter, even if she doesn't want to. That is, if they want to get out of this thing alive.


Excerpt:

Cerise admired the specimen standing before her. Naked. His back to her. His wrists bound and shackled to the bedroom wall he faced.

The man's cocoa-brown skin shone with a thin film of perspiration. He smelled of sweet bourbon, lust, and testosterone. She studied his profile in admiration. High cheekbones, deep-set brown eyes, chiseled jaw, full lips. His body was devoid of hair, smooth as silk, including his head. She wondered if he shaved it or if he was naturally bald. She put him in his late thirties, maybe forty, and he was in good shape.

Yes. He was in very good shape. Her gaze trailed down his muscled back, his triangle torso, and his firm buttocks, high and well defined.

If only she could get her ass that high. More Pilates. She'd tell her personal trainer to work her harder.

She was now wearing only the bustier, a black thong, and the boots. She had added a few accessories, as well—black leather-studded cuffs on her wrists, a black and pearl studded choker around her neck. Her hair was slicked back into a tight ponytail, trailing down her back. She'd donned him with cuffs as well, making a game of it. He'd laughed until she'd told him that she was shackling him to the wall. Of course, he outweighed her by a hundred-and-fifty pounds, or more, she suspected. He could have pushed her out of the way and said the hell with it.

But he didn't. He allowed her to shackle his wrists to the wall while he wore nothing but a wicked smile.

"What you propose to do with me, boss lady," he had said.

She narrowed her gaze and looked him straight in the eye. "Anything I want."

He chuckled, and she walked away. That's when she'd left him to draw herself a bath. A hot, steamy bath. With bubbles. She'd lingered long in the tub, admiring the buck-naked view of the man through her bathroom door. He glanced behind him occasionally but couldn't fully turn to see her.

"You about ready, boss lady?"

"No."

"Getting kind of tired standing here."

"You'll live."

"You gonna make me wait all night?"

"Perhaps."

"Well, I just—"

"Shut up."

He didn't say another word.

Wait for it, sweet. Yes. In due time.

* * *

Get Cuffed, Again, at Resplendence Publishing.
Coming soon to Amazon Kindle, All Romance eBooks, Fictionwise and more...