First Love By Lisabet Sarai
Anyone who takes a look at my back list is likely to come away with at least one conclusion. I write in lot of different genres – so many that I ultimately had to resort to a multi-category index  to guide my readers. Contemporary, historical, science fiction, steampunk, paranormal, gay, lesbian, ménage, suspense, even horror – I’ve written them all. Sometimes I mix things up, as in my most recent release Rajasthani Moon, a deliberate attempt to explore just how many genres I could cram into a single novel. However, I find myself returning again and again to my first love – BDSM. My debut novel Raw Silk focused on a woman’s gradual recognition and acceptance of her submissive desires. Fourteen years later, I still find myself fascinated (and aroused) by the emotional dynamics and physical challenges of BDSM.
Exciting as it is, though, you can only write the classic BDSM initiation scenario so many times before you long for something different. In Rajasthani Moon, I experiment with a different kind of BDSM fiction, less realistic and less serious than most of my stories about D/s.
For one thing, the book plays with abduction and interrogation scenarios. My secret agent heroine Cecily is kidnapped and sexually “tortured” by her captors. Although she apparently resists, in fact she enjoys every minute of the process – as do the half brothers who inflict all those delightful indignities upon her. I hope that my readers who are used to my usual more nuanced and realistic BDSM will not be upset by the apparently non-consensual aspects of the story. The book is deliberately a bit over-the-top, designed to give readers a chance to experience and enjoy those juicy forbidden fantasies. In the real world, I subscribe wholeheartedly to the notion of consensuality. Cecily, though, lives in a fantastic imaginary universe where those rules don’t necessarily apply.
Then there’s the array of bizarre steam punk sex toys I’ve invented for my characters’ pleasure (and pain). I’ve got robotic rope, animated nipple clamps, electrical stimulators, dildos and plugs, all sorts of mechanisms that get applied to my heroine’s voluptuous flesh. In fact, I’m usually more interested in the psychological, emotional and spiritual aspects of a D/s relationship, but in Rajasthani Moon I got a bit carried away.
The core attraction of BDSM is still there, though – the release that comes from surrender to the Dom’s will. Cecily discovers some truths about herself over the course of the tale, and develops unexpected emotional connections that are rather inconvenient for a spy.
You’ll find the blurb and an X-rated excerpt below. I’m giving away a free copy of the BDSM anthology Switch (which includes my story Mastering Maya) to one person who leaves a comment on this post. In addition, I’m adding Lucy’s blog to my ongoing blog tour, so your comments also count as entries toward the grand prize of a $50 bookstore gift certificate. (For full details of the tour, go to http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/2013/06/sunday-snog-more-delights-from.html.) Please include your email address in your comment, so I can find you if you win!
Neither kink nor curse can stop a woman with a mission.
Cecily Harrowsmith, secret agent extraordinaire, is a woman on a mission. When the remote Indian kingdom of Rajasthan refused to remit its taxes to the Empire, Her Majesty imposed an embargo. Deprived of the energy-rich mineral viridium, essential for modern technology and development, Rajasthan was expected to quickly give in and resume its payments. Yet after three years, the rebellious principality still has not knuckled under. Cecily undertakes the difficult journey to that rugged, arid land in order to determine just how it has managed to survive, and if possible to convince the country to return to the Empire’s embrace. Instead, she’s taken captive by a brigand, who turns out to be the ruler’s half-brother Pratan, and delivered into the hands of the sexy but sadistic Rajah Amir, who expertly mingles torture and delight in his interrogation of the voluptuous interloper.
Cursed before birth by Amir’s jealous mother, Pratan changes to a ravening wolf whenever the moon is full. Cecily uncovers the counter-spell that can reverse the effects of the former queen’s hex and tries to trade that information for her freedom. Drawn to the fierce wolf-man and sympathising with his suffering, she volunteers to serve as the sacrifice required by the ritual—offering her body to the beast. In return, the Rajah reveal Rajasthan’s amazing secret source of energy. In the face of almost impossible odds, Cecily has accomplished the task entrusted to her by the Empire. But can she really bear to leave the virile half-brothers and their colourful land behind and return to the constraints of her life in England?
You can buy the book at your favorite online store:
Total-E-Bound (TEB can send books directly to your ereader)
At long last, the door rattled and then swung open. Sarita leapt from her seat, crossed the richly-patterned carpet, and sank to her knees in front of the entering Rajah.
“My Lord, I have done as you commanded. The spy awaits you.”
Amir took in Cecily’s shameful state in one astute glance. Amusement was evident in both his voice and his expression. “Excellent work, Sarita. I could hardly have done better myself.” He raised his favourite to her feet and bestowed a kiss upon her lips. She pressed her lithe body against his in an attempt to prolong the embrace, but he gently put her aside and strolled over to confront Cecily.
“She looks extremely fetching in bondage, just as I’d expected.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Cecily glimpsed the other woman’s deepening scowl.
“How are you feeling, Miss Harrowsmith?”
The mockery in his tone was not enough to prevent a surge of renewed lust, which she struggled to suppress. “I presume that’s a rhetorical question, Your Highness,” she replied after a moment. God, but his eyes are hypnotic! “Given that I’m stark naked and trussed up like a turkey about to be roasted.”
“Not entirely rhetorical.” The handsome Rajah circled around to inspect her from the rear. “It seems to me that you’re distinctly damp.” With a chuckle, he swept a finger down the length of her cleft, gathering her moisture. Her inner muscles clenched as sparks struck her clit. When he smeared her juices across her bum, she wanted to sink through the floor. “Based on the available evidence, I’d say that being bound excites you.”
“Nonsense—” she began. Her attempts at a cool, sarcastic response were interrupted by the ferocious slap he landed on her arse. “Ow! Oh…” The sting from his spank vanished, overwhelmed by the delicious sensation of his fingers playing in her cunny. “Oh…ah…”
“And it’s clear that, like many of your compatriots, you find corporal punishment arousing.”
“No—ow! That’s ridiculous…Ow! Ah! Ow!”
He alternated sharp blows to her buttocks with exquisite explorations of her cunt.
“Fondness for punishment is one of the many intriguing cultural phenomena I encountered during my sojourn in your dank country.” He circled her back hole with a slick finger, then probed gently. “I suppose that being exposed to those notions at a tender age might have shaped my own predilections in that regard.”
She tightened her sphincter, trying to keep him out, without success. Guilty pleasure rushed through her as he wiggled his digit just inside the entrance. “Oh—you…uh—you spent time in England? Ah…” Though he pulled out, the effects of his lewd touch continued to ripple through her body. Her sex gaped, hungry, dripping with excitement she couldn’t hide. If only he’d stop chattering and simply take her…
“I was schooled there. Pratan as well. My father believed in the value of knowing one’s enemy.”
“I’m not— We’re not—oh!—your enemy, Your Highness. Ow!”
The Rajah had pinched one of the welts raised by his brother’s whipping. “Hmm. We’ll see. Speaking of Pratan, it looks as though he did quite a job on you yesterday. Perhaps I should refrain from inflicting any further damage on your delectable bottom at present.”
Cecily bit back a moan of disappointment. She hung her head, appalled by her reaction. Her hair tumbled around her face, hiding her shame.
“Fear not, sweet Cecily. I have other ideas about what to do with you—equally nasty and painful, I guarantee.” He gave both her butt cheeks a solid squeeze, waking echoes of her previous beatings, then moved away.
She heard a lock click on some chest or cabinet behind her. He must be seeking some new instrument of punishment or humiliation. She shuddered, from fear or anticipation, or perhaps both at once.
“Where is Pratan?” she ventured as the noise of his rummaging continued. At the moment, she would have felt safer in the company of the bandit.
“He’s—um—indisposed at the moment. That is why I was delayed. Ah, here we are! Don’t worry. I fully intend to share you with my brother.”
Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – nearly fifty single author titles, plus dozens of short stories in various erotic anthologies, including the Lambda winner Where the Girls Are and the IPPIE Best Erotic Book of 2011, Carnal Machines. Her gay scifi erotic romance Quarantine won a Rainbow Awards 2012 Honorable Mention.
Lisabet has more degrees than anyone would ever need, from prestigious educational institutions who would no doubt be deeply embarrassed by her chosen genre. She has traveled widely and currently lives in Southeast Asia with her indulgent husband and two exceptional felines, where she pursues an alternative career that is completely unrelated to her creative writing.