Tag Archives: lisabet sarai

Her Own Devices by Lisabet Sarai #lesbianerotica #lisabetsarai #steampunk

Her Own DevicesBlurb

In Her Own Devices, Lisabet Sarai collects her favorite stories of lesbian desire into a single volume. Meet Ally, former gang member, whose fears losing her identity along with her tattoos in the skilled hands of laser technician Luisa. Get to know butch firefighter Wilhemina “Billie” Macdonald, struggling to recover from the disastrous accident that killed her best buddy, with the help of a rather unconventional psychotherapist. Lick your lips at Goth rock chick Mina, barely into her twenties but brazen as sin, and velvet-clad, cigar-smoking Silicon Valley siren Dr. Marta Hausman.  Share Sister Kathleen Patrick’s confusion and arousal as she finds herself drawn to a most unsuitable partner. Experience submissive femme Jana’s ultimate surrender to her Daddy’s ropes, clamps, and ice cream sundae.

Each of these nine luscious tales will introduce you to distinctively different women. Each demonstrates that, left to her own devices, a woman can find what she needs—passion, comfort, love, healing—in another woman’s arms.

Buy Links

Direct from Ladylit:
ePub for for iPad, iPhone, Sony eReader, Nook and other devices
Mobi for Kindle
PDF for any computer or device

 

Amazon US
Amazon UK
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All Romance
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Add to your Goodreads Shelf:

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25524363-her-own-devices

 

Excerpt

“I told you to make yourself comfortable. Do I have to discipline you to get you to obey me?” She gestures at me with the crop. I’m simultaneously terrified and terribly aroused.

“No – no, Ma’am.”

“Get those clothes off, then. Now.”

I strip as quickly as I can, acutely aware of her dark eyes on me. In thirty seconds or less, my clothes are in a tangled pile on the cushions. I stand naked in front of her, suddenly embarrassed  by the dark fuzz on my legs and in my armpits.

Marta inhales, deep and slow, then releases the smoke through pursed scarlet lips. She is silent as she circles my body, judging me. She’s achingly close, but she does not touch me. I tremble every time I sense her moving.

She pauses behind my back, and brushes the riding crop lightly over my buttocks. I freeze. Will she beat me, mark me, make me hers? I brace for the pain, fearful yet strangely eager for the new sensation. Instead she places the crop where I can see it on the lounge.

“Not today, little one – not this time. Not as long as you are a good girl.”  I feel her heat, smell her musk mixed with the fruity cigar scent. My legs are rubbery, unstable. She massages my buttocks, molding them in her palms. All at once I feel her finger sliding from behind into my soaking cunt. I clench my muscles around the slender digit, trying to keep her inside me, but she slips free and holds her finger in front of my face. I breathe in my own damp, ripe aroma.

Her voice next to my ear is soft and smooth as velvet. “You certainly are a wet little girl, Loretta. A deliciously wet little slut.” She pulls my plait out of the way and kisses me just below the earlobe. Her lips send shivers racing through me, electric arcs that spark across my nipples and converge on my clit.

I’m dying for more, but she pulls back after that brief caress. Her fingers ghost down to the small of my back, where she pulls off the elastic that secures the braid. “When you’re with me, I want your hair loose, free. I want to see it flowing over your shoulders.”  She arranges it that way as she speaks, then circles back around to evaluate the effect.

“Much better.” She flicks a lock away from my breast, almost but not quite touching me. “But I certainly don’t want to hide those adorable tits.”  Seating herself on the chaise, she beckons me to her. My nipples are just at the level of her lips. She warms one with her breath, and it tightens visibly. I want to scream, to beg her to touch me. She’s running this show, though. We both know that.

She fastens her mouth on that needy nipple. I close my eyes as  pleasure and relief overwhelm me. She sucks steadily. My clit twitches and dances as if her mouth were down there instead. I moan and try to rub my hungry pussy against her robe. She bites down hard on the swollen bud of flesh between her lips.

“Ow!”

“Naughty little slut! Maybe I need to use my crop after all!”  Her actions don’t match her words, however. I imagine her seizing her instrument of punishment and throwing me over her lap so that she can chastise me. Instead, she sinks to one knee in front of my pussy and opens me with her mouth and fingers.

 

About Lisabet Sarai

LISABET SARAI writes in many genres, but F/F fiction is one of her favorites. Her lesbian erotica credits include contributions to Lambda Award winner Where the Girls Are, Ippie-winning Carnal Machines, Best Lesbian Romance 2012, Forbidden Fruit: Stories of Unwise Lesbian  Desire,  and Lammy-nominated Coming Together: Girl on Girl. Her story “The Late Show” appears in the recently released Best Lesbian Erotica 2015. Her first stand-alone lesbian title, The Witches of Gloucester, was release in March by LadyLit.

Lisabet holds more degrees than anyone would ever need, from prestigious educational institutions who would no doubt be deeply embarrassed by her explicit literary endeavors. She has traveled widely and currently lives in Southeast Asia, where she pursues an alternative career that is completely unrelated to her writing. For all the dirt on Lisabet, visit her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com) or her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com).

***

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A Sex Toy Started It All by Lisabet Sarai

The Eyes Of BastFunny how things work out. The first chapter of my new novella, The Eyes of Bast, started life as a disguised promo post for an adult toy vendor.

A marketing person contacted me by email, asking if I’d be willing write a blog post about their shop and their products. In return, they offered me a gift certificate which I could either use myself or offer as a prize to my readers.

At first I demurred. I don’t like blogs that feel like commercials. (I even feel that way about posts that market my own books!) On the other hand, I was sure that a sex toy gift voucher would be an attractive prize, for at least some of my readers.

So I made a deal. I told the marketing lady I’d write a story that featured sex toys instead. I’d offer the voucher as a prize for readers who commented on the story. And I’d include the toy store’s banner and a link as part of the prize description.

That’s why the first chapter of The Eyes of Bast  features a rather steamy scene of self-pleasure, utilizing a lavishly described dildo.

I had no plans to expand the 2000 word blog post into a novella. Once I’d created the character of Shaina, though, she wanted more space. I pretty much had to continue the tale. So I made it into a serial on my website, posting a new chapter each month. (Okay, I admit I missed some months. The best laid plans and all that…!)

As the action reached its climax, I wrote faster. By now I’d realized I had an actual book, not just a one-off blog composition. When I put the chapters together into a single manuscript, I was pleasantly surprised by the story’s continuity, drama and heat. Not bad for something originally intended to sell dildos!

I hope that you’ll agree.

*****

Excerpt:

Go check the old elm. I swear, the voice was clear as crystal in my mind. Lack of sleep, I told myself. Or stress. The cage is still in my apartment. There wont be anything there. But the urge to go back to the park just wouldn’t let go.

Trust your instincts. With a sigh, I turned and headed for the park, pulling my mace out of my purse as I walked.

The sky was still light enough for me to see shapes and shadows, even under the trees. As I’d expected, area beneath the elm was empty, the grass trampled from my previous visit. Of course no cats revealed themselves. If there were ferals around, they’d be hiding in the underbrush, wary of my scent and the sounds I made, despite my attempts to move quietly.

Tom wasnt afraid of you. The thought made me ache. He’d been such a gorgeous, affectionate cat. I hoped he was okay.

“Hello.” The voice was male, low and throaty. I jumped and whirled around.

A man stood behind me, a fairly young man with sleek, dark skin and a wide, shy smile. Although his body appeared to be fit and muscular, he held himself in an awkward manner, as if he had some subtle handicap. His arms hung at his sides, his hands clenching and unclenching as though he didn’t quite know what to do with them.

I gripped my mace more tightly, although he didn’t appear at all threatening.

“Um – what are you doing here?”

“Nothing, nothing…” He shrugged and scratched the curly black locks that covered his head. “I heard your voice. I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

Had I spoken aloud? I returned his smile, still uncertain whether I should trust him. “I’m fine. Just taking a walk.”

“It’s not safe here after dark, you know.”

His earnest tone made me chuckle. I held up the can of mace. “I can take care of myself.”

Worry furrowed his high forehead. “That won’t help against some of the things that come out at night.”

A chill shot through me. I shook it away. “I was just headed home anyway.”

“Good. You should be careful.” His smile returned, melting my last vestiges of suspicion. He pronounced his English with a precision that made me wonder if he spoke something else as his native language. It wasn’t exactly an accent, but I could tell he wasn’t a native New Yorker.

“What about you?”

“Oh – I know my way around here,” he answered. He ran his fingers through his curls and arched his back a bit, as though stretching. Despite that odd awkwardness, he was lithe and graceful. A brief pang of desire shot through me. “And I have excellent night vision. Exceptionally sharp hearing, too.”

I couldn’t figure out why, but something about him felt familiar. “Have we met before?” I asked, then cringed, realizing it sounded like a pick up line. “I mean – um – I don’t mean…” Hot blood climbed into my cheeks, though the shadows were probably too dense for him detect my discomfort.

His bold laugh rang out in the growing darkness. “Maybe we have met,” he said. “I live in the neighborhood. Do you?”

“Pretty close,” I answered, alarm bells sounding in my head. No matter how handsome and charming he was, I wasn’t about to give him my address.

“Well, then, you never know. You said you were heading home. May I walk with you?” He took my arm without waiting for my permission.

“Um – actually—” His touch stopped me cold. It drove out rational thought. As if someone had turned on a faucet, hormones poured into my blood. My nipples tensed and my lower lips grew plump and slick. His fingers on my bare forearm were tipped with fire. I gasped, staring up in wonder at his strong, even features, overcome by his imminent maleness.

I wanted stretch out in the grass and pull him down on top of me. I was dying to feel his weight on my chest, his hardness probing between my thighs. Skin on skin was what I craved, with an urgency I’d never experienced in my all my twenty-eight years.

His nostrils flared and I knew he’d caught the ocean scent rising from my sex. I could smell it myself. My saturated panties and jeans were no barrier. He grinned, revealing teeth so white they gleamed in the twilight gloom. I shuddered with need, imagining those teeth tearing my flesh, and stumbled on the gravel path.

*****

Blurb

Trust your heart. Follow your dreams.

Shaina Williams’ grandmother bequeathed her that wisdom, along with a old pendant from the Islands, carved from an ocelot’s tooth. When instinct tells Shaina to visit the feral cat trap she’d set in Central Park, she listens to that inner voice, She discovers she’s caged a magnificent black tom, but the cat inexplicably vanishes after she tends to his wounds. Seeking the errant feline, Shaina encounters instead a handsome stranger whose slightest touch sets her body on fire. As the day dawns after a night of ferocious passion, her mysterious lover is forced back into his true shape – the tomcat she’d rescued.

Born a cat, Tom was transformed into an unwilling shape shifter by a sorceress who craved a human plaything to satisfy her perverse lusts. Centuries old and irresistibly powerful, Delphine Montserrat will stop at nothing to find her runaway familiar. Shaina vows to do whatever is necessary to defeat the vicious but seductive witch and save the man she believes is her soul mate – even though it might mean losing him forever.

Buy Links

Totally BoundAll Romance Ebooks | Amazon US | Amazon UK | Barnes & Noble | Kobo

Add on GoodReads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25153711-the-eyes-of-bast

Check out my exclusive interview about the book at Totally Bound!

https://www.totallybound.com/the-eyes-of-bast-exclusive

*****

About the Author

When I was a little girl, my dad would make up stories for my siblings and me, fabulous sagas about ghosts and monsters, magical races with mysterious powers, heroes on impossible quests, hidden treasures awaiting only the most courageous seeker. I blame him for my lifelong fascination with the magical and miraculous.

Now that I’m grown up, I create my own tales of wonder, weaving in generous portions of human desire with its potent enchantments. In my paranormal tales, love works the most powerful magick.

Find out more about me and my books at my website, Lisabet’s Fantasy Factory (http://www.lisabetsarai.com) and my blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com). I also hang out on Goodreads (http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/83387.Lisabet_Sarai) and Amazon (https://www.amazon.com/author/lisabetsarai).  I also have a VIP readers email list where I share release and contest information and run exclusive monthly giveaways. To join, just email me: lisabet [at] lisabetsarai [dot] com.

D&S Duos Book One by Lisabet Sarai

Passionate woman with shibari posing in studioBlurb

D&S Duos Book 1 combines two of Lisabet Sarai’s hottest BDSM short stories into one sizzling package. In “Body Electric”, a professor of engineering charms his female colleague into experiments on the erotic effects of electricity. In “Limits”, an established Master/slave couple push their relationship to next level of trust – blood sports. Also includes a searing excerpt from Lisabet’s BDSM erotic thriller Bangkok Noir.

Available from: Amazon UK | Amazon US

Barnes and Noble, iTunes, etc. Coming soon.

 

Excerpt

The thing in his hands looked like something from a 1940’s horror film. It had a handle, topped with a mushroom-shaped globe of glass that glowed with a malevolent purple light. Inside the glass, bright sparks danced. Their images flickered on the wall next to the bed.

Slowly, he brought the bulb closer to my bare flesh. The crackling noise grew more intense. He hovered above my nipple. “Don’t move,” he whispered.

All at once a rain of sparks shot from the tube to the taut node of flesh. I was being pierced with a thousand needles. I screamed, as much from surprise as from the pain. Ryan pulled the device away, as I tried to catch my breath.

“Colette?”

“Sorry, Doctor. I wasn’t expecting…” Before I could finish, his mouth was on my recently assaulting nipple, lapping and sucking, soaking my skin with his hot saliva. I felt every movement of his tongue deep in my cunt. When he brought the glowing globe close again, I thought I was ready. This time, though, the sparks were stronger, hotter, more painful. Electricity crawled over my breast, wherever he had left traces of wetness.

Before I could recover, he was sparking my other nipple. I jumped and squirmed. My cunt contracted with each contact. He stroked my stomach. “You’re all sweaty,” he said. The thing sputtered and popped. Miniature bolts of lightning showered down on my navel. “And your thighs are smeared with cunt-juice…” He swept the wand slowly over my body and a long trail of sparks stitched up the sensitive skin toward my gaping sex.

“I’ve always been fascinated by electricity,” he said in a conversational tone as the bulb approached my cunt. I tensed, waiting for the jolt I knew would come. Nothing could have prepared me for the raw sensations. Sparks danced on my clit and sputtered among my wet folds. I screamed again, overwhelmed, confused as to whether I was in terrible pain or close to climax.

My tormenter paused. “I didn’t invent this handy little device, but I’ve made a few modifications. For example, I can turn up the power, or increase the frequency. Or make the variations random. Would you like that?”

All I could do moan.

 


lisabetFaceBrief Bio

LISABET SARAI occasionally tackles other genres, but BDSM will always be her first love. Every one of her nine novels includes some element of power exchange, while her D/s short stories range from mildly kinky to intensely perverse. Learn more athttp://www.lisabetsarai.com.

Links:

Website: http://www.lisabetsarai.com

Blog: http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com

Goodreads:http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/83387.Lisabet_Sarai

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/author/lisabetsarai

Yahoo group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/lisabets_list

Serial Love by Lisabet Sarai

The Eyes Of BastThe Eyes of Bast was an experiment. I created the novella as a serial, writing and posting a chapter each month as part of my regular website update. I’ve never tried this approach before. Although I’m usually more of a plotter than a pantster, I had very little idea about what would happen next. Each month, I’d reread the previous installment, to help me maintain continuity, and then I’d just sit down and write whatever came to mind.

The process was remarkably liberating. I could set my imagination free.

The bulk of what I write is targeted for a particular publisher and often, a specific call for submissions. I usually have a predefined theme and both a minimum and maximum word count. These constraints shape my creative process. My internal editor is constantly active. Would the publisher object to this language? Was I taking too long to get to the clinch? Was my take on the theme close enough to satisfy the requirements?

With The Eyes of Bast, I was writing for my own pleasure – and of course that of my readers. The story could be as long (or short) as it needed to be. I could write sweet or raunchy, depending on my mood.  I could introduce plot twists as they occurred to me, without worrying too much about plausibility.

I was writing purely for the fun of it. What a novel concept!

I’m actually pretty pleased with the way the tale turned out. I especially like the dramatic ending, which borrows a bit from horror tales. And I’m delighted by the depths my villain ultimately revealed. I have a problem writing bad guys (or in this case, bad girls). Delphine Montserrat is one of my better evil-doers.

I hope my readers agree.

*****

Excerpt:

Go check the old elm. I swear, the voice was clear as crystal in my mind. Lack of sleep, I told myself. Or stress. The cage is still in my apartment. There won’t be anything there. But the urge to go back to the park just wouldn’t let go.

Trust your instincts. With a sigh, I turned and headed for the park, pulling my mace out of my purse as I walked.

The sky was still light enough for me to see shapes and shadows, even under the trees. As I’d expected, area beneath the elm was empty, the grass trampled from my previous visit. Of course no cats revealed themselves. If there were ferals around, they’d be hiding in the underbrush, wary of my scent and the sounds I made, despite my attempts to move quietly.

Tom wasn’t afraid of you. The thought made me ache. He’d been such a gorgeous, affectionate cat. I hoped he was okay.

“Hello.” The voice was male, low and throaty. I jumped and whirled around.

A man stood behind me, a fairly young man with sleek, dark skin and a wide, shy smile. Although his body appeared to be fit and muscular, he held himself in an awkward manner, as if he had some subtle handicap. His arms hung at his sides, his hands clenching and unclenching as though he didn’t quite know what to do with them.

I gripped my mace more tightly, although he didn’t appear at all threatening.

“Um – what are you doing here?”

“Nothing, nothing…” He shrugged and scratched the curly black locks that covered his head. “I heard your voice. I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

Had I spoken aloud? I returned his smile, still uncertain whether I should trust him. “I’m fine. Just taking a walk.”

“It’s not safe here after dark, you know.”

His earnest tone made me chuckle. I held up the can of mace. “I can take care of myself.”

Worry furrowed his high forehead. “That won’t help against some of the things that come out at night.”

A chill shot through me. I shook it away. “I was just headed home anyway.”

“Good. You should be careful.” His smile returned, melting my last vestiges of suspicion. He pronounced his English with a precision that made me wonder if he spoke something else as his native language. It wasn’t exactly an accent, but I could tell he wasn’t a native New Yorker.

“What about you?”

“Oh – I know my way around here,” he answered. He ran his fingers through his curls and arched his back a bit, as though stretching. Despite that odd awkwardness, he was lithe and graceful. A brief pang of desire shot through me. “And I have excellent night vision. Exceptionally sharp hearing, too.”

I couldn’t figure out why, but something about him felt familiar. “Have we met before?” I asked, then cringed, realizing it sounded like a pick up line. “I mean – um – I don’t mean…” Hot blood climbed into my cheeks, though the shadows were probably too dense for him detect my discomfort.

His bold laugh rang out in the growing darkness. “Maybe we have met,” he said. “I live in the neighborhood. Do you?”

“Pretty close,” I answered, alarm bells sounding in my head. No matter how handsome and charming he was, I wasn’t about to give him my address.

“Well, then, you never know. You said you were heading home. May I walk with you?” He took my arm without waiting for my permission.

“Um – actually—” His touch stopped me cold. It drove out rational thought. As if someone had turned on a faucet, hormones poured into my blood. My nipples tensed and my lower lips grew plump and slick. His fingers on my bare forearm were tipped with fire. I gasped, staring up in wonder at his strong, even features, overcome by his imminent maleness.

I wanted stretch out in the grass and pull him down on top of me. I was dying to feel his weight on my chest, his hardness probing between my thighs. Skin on skin was what I craved, with an urgency I’d never experienced in my all my twenty-eight years.

His nostrils flared and I knew he’d caught the ocean scent rising from my sex. I could smell it myself. My saturated panties and jeans were no barrier. He grinned, revealing teeth so white they gleamed in the twilight gloom. I shuddered with need, imagining those teeth tearing my flesh, and stumbled on the gravel path.

*****

Blurb:

Trust your heart. Follow your dreams.

Shaina Williams’ grandmother bequeathed her that wisdom, along with a old pendant from the Islands, carved from an ocelot’s tooth. When instinct tells Shaina to visit the feral cat trap she’d set in Central Park, she listens to that inner voice, She discovers she’s caged a magnificent black tom, but the cat inexplicably vanishes after she tends to his wounds. Seeking the errant feline, Shaina encounters instead a handsome stranger whose slightest touch sets her body on fire. As the day dawns after a night of ferocious passion, her mysterious lover is forced back into his true shape – the tomcat she’d rescued.

Born a cat, Tom was transformed into an unwilling shape shifter by a sorceress who craved a human plaything to satisfy her perverse lusts. Centuries old and irresistibly powerful, Delphine Montserrat will stop at nothing to find her runaway familiar. Shaina vows to do whatever is necessary to defeat the vicious but seductive witch and save the man she believes is her soul mate – even though it might mean losing him forever.

Buy Links:

Amazon UK | Amazon US

*****

About the Author:

When I was a little girl, my dad would make up stories for my siblings and me, fabulous sagas about ghosts and monsters, magical races with mysterious powers, heroes on impossible quests, hidden treasures awaiting only the most courageous seeker. I blame him for my lifelong fascination with the magical and miraculous.

Now that I’m grown up, I create my own tales of wonder, weaving in generous portions of human desire with its potent enchantments. In my paranormal tales, love works the most powerful magick.

Find out more about me and my books at my website, Lisabet’s Fantasy Factory (http://www.lisabetsarai.com) and my blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com). I also hang out on Goodreads (http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/83387.Lisabet_Sarai) and Amazon (https://www.amazon.com/author/lisabetsarai).  I also have a VIP readers email list where I share release and contest information and run exclusive monthly giveaways. To join, just email me: lisabet [at] lisabetsarai [dot] com.

Admit You Want It: BDSM Erotica by Lisabet Sarai

AdmitCover320Deluxe “boxed set” ebook, now available from Books We Love!

Available from:
Amazon UK
Amazon US

For connoisseurs of literate kink, Admit You Want It combines eighteen of Lisabet Sarai’s sizzling D/s short stories plus a 30,000 word novella in one economical package.

 

Just a Spanking (pushing limits in an established relationship)

Wired (some technically creative bondage)

Ruler (an absolute monarch learns a lesson)

Silver Bells (intense BDSM holiday ménage)

Sundae, Bloody Sundae (lesbian BDSM about terror and trust )

Stroke (submission is all in the mind)

Quiet Evening at Home (a two-timing charmer gets what he deserves)

Limbo (journeys outside the body to the edges of endurance)

Bangkok Noir (BDSM thriller set in the steamy heart of Asia)

Like Riding a Bicycle (a long-married couple reclaim their kinky roots)

Domestic Goddess (punishing an inattentive Master)

On the Beach (romantic and intense M/F/M ménage)

Shades of Red (femdom revelations in the Amsterdam red light district)

Try Before You Buy (light-hearted lesbian D/s)

Tease (fantasies of submission fulfilled)

Wednesday Night at Rocky’s Ace Hardware (toys are everywhere!)

Higher Power (magick, spirit and submission)

Spank Me Again, Stranger (an unexpected birthday celebration)

Limits: A Love Story (love and blood sports)

 

Special limited time offer! Get a free copy of my BDSM short story A Case of You, just by admitting you want it. Go here for details:

http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/2014/05/admit-you-want-it.html

 

Excerpt:

Bangkok Noir – Rated R

I picked up the little whip that Ajarn gave me to use in my act and swirled the thongs lazily around above my head. Then I stuck it between my thighs and rubbed it back and forth. Mmm. I could smell myself, as I got more and more wet.

I checked my audience. Everyone was watching me. I chose first one man, then another. I stared at each one until he was too embarrassed and lowered his head. I didn’t smile, just stared. Letting them know with my eyes that I was in charge. The boss lady.

At the end of the row of benches, I noticed somebody new. A handsome farang with hair the color of straw, wearing business clothes that looked expensive. He smiled at me, a strange smile that made me feel like I was naked.

Of course, my costume doesn’t hide very much. Normally, that gives me a feeling of power. Maybe I will allow them to see the hidden parts. Maybe not.

With this man, it didn’t matter what I was wearing. I felt like he could see right through my clothing. Like he could see every bit of me, even if I wore street clothes. My nipples started to ache, and my G-string got more slippery than ever.

For the first time since I started working for Ajarn, I was nervous. I stumbled on my spiky heels. I almost lost my balance. Luckily, I was able to turn the mistake into a sexy dip that showed off my bare rear. Most of the customers didn’t notice.

The blond man was not fooled.

My heart was beating so hard that it hurt. When I finished my dancing time, I ran into the toilet and splashed some water on my face. I crouched down, my back against the wall, listening to the chatter of the other girls. My eyes closed, I tried to follow my breathing, the way the monks taught me. All I could see was the farang looking at me, with that X-ray stare of his, like something from a science fiction movie.

I stayed in the bathroom for as long as I could. I knew Ajarn would notice if I was gone too long. Finally, I had to go back out. I peeked out from behind the curtains, trying to see if he was still there. When I saw that his seat was empty, I sighed with relief.

I headed toward the bar to get a Coke. My throat was tight and dry. Then I felt a hand on my arm. It was him. His skin was so cool, it made me shiver.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked. His voice was kind, and made me think of music. Still, I felt something like terror. He stared at me without blinking. Now it was me who had to look away.

Ajarn was on the other side of the room, watching us. I couldn’t refuse.

“Thank you, sir. Just a moment. I go get a Coke, come back right away.”

“Let me go with you,” he said smoothly. He took my arm and walked me to the bar. After we got our drinks, he guided me to a table in the corner.

“Sit,” he ordered. I didn’t want to, not really. But what could I do? I clicked my glass against his. “Chok dee,” I said. “Good luck to you.”

His smile made me feel like I had eaten a meal of live butterflies. “Same to you. What’s your name?”

“My name Nok. What your name?”

“You can call me Sam,” he said. “Nok is bird, right?”

I nodded. He brushed my long hair off my shoulders and down my back. Then he took my chin in his hand. He raised my eyes to meet his again. I felt like I was captured. Trapped.

“Very appropriate. You’re as delicate and airy as a sparrow.” I thought of those caged birds they sell at the temples. You set the birds free to make merit, but they always return to their masters.

Without warning, he kissed me. His lips were as soft as his voice, at least at first. I thought I should stop him, though. I tried to pull away. His right hand held my mouth against his. His left arm wrapped around my waist. I couldn’t move.

So I gave up. I let him slide his tongue into my mouth and suck the breath from me. The funny thing was, as soon as I gave in to him, I began to like it. He smelled like soap and expensive cologne. He tasted like his whiskey. I could feel that he was strong, much stronger than he looked, with his slim body and fancy clothes.

He kissed me harder, biting my lip. I felt like I was melting. He let go of my chin and played with my breasts through the stretchy mesh. My sex was on fire against the hot, sticky leather.

Suddenly, he pinched one of my nipples, digging in his fingernails. His mouth smothered my cry of surprise and pain. After the pain, though, I felt amazing pleasure, shooting up my spine like lightning.

“You like that, Nok.” My English is only so-so, but I could tell he wasn’t asking a question. He was telling me. And he was right.

I was terribly embarrassed. I wanted him to do it again.

He bent me backwards. My hair nearly brushed the floor. He put his mouth on the other nipple and sucked. I felt like his mouth was between my legs, sucking me there. It was heaven. I reached up, wanting to stroke him, but he pushed my hands away.

Then, when I was not expecting it, he sank his teeth into my flesh. Everything went dark for an instant. Then pain exploded in me, brilliant as the sun. I was burning up, but I wanted to burn.

When I opened my eyes, he was watching me. That strange smile was on his face, but he also looked worried. “That’s enough for tonight, Nok,” he murmured. “I have an appointment elsewhere. But I will come back for you, soon.”

I was too dazed to say anything. He stuffed a thousand baht note into the cup with the bill, to cover two one hundred baht drinks, and stood to leave. I grabbed his shirt. Not thinking, but not wanting him to go.

“Please, sir…”

He flicked his thumb across one of my aching nipples. Delicious echoes of pain rippled through me. “Be patient, Nok. Be patient and wait. Now is not your time.”

Before I could say or do anything more, he was gone. I sat on the stool, confused. Ashamed. Frustrated. Sticky and dirty and smelling like a whorehouse. I buried my face in my hands, almost ready to cry.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder. “Your turn to dance again,” said Lin. I nodded and stood up. I was still shaking.

“Who was that guy?” she asked. She knew that something was wrong with me.

“Just a guy,” I said. I made myself sound uninterested. “Just a customer.”

I paid my respects to the shrine in the corner, then climbed back onto the pedestal. I began to dance, showing off my whip to customers. Trying to look like I was in control.

Rough Weather by Lisabet Sarai

Rough WeatherDestiny hides in the tempest’s heart

Ondine has always felt at home in the sea. Orphaned at birth and raised by her grandmother on the island of Martha’s Vineyard, she has never really questioned her extraordinary affinity for the watery world. She concentrates on her work as a marine biologist, spends her weekends relaxing among the waves and worries about human threats to her beloved ocean environment. Fears of a deadly pregnancy like her mother’s make her cautious about sex.

When she encounters an attractive but arrogant engineer on her private beach, surveying the site for a prospective off-shore wind farm, anger is her first reaction. A casual touch, however, transforms that emotion to incomprehensible, irresistible, terrifying lust.

Ebony-skinned Marut has his own talents—aside from his uncanny ability to swamp Ondine with desire. He can control the winds and summon storms. He informs Ondine that they share a supernatural heritage and claims she is his destined mate. She responds with scepticism and tries to resist the charismatic Haitian, but ultimately her scientist’s training won’t permit her to deny the evidence of her senses—and her heart. As a brutal northeaster batters the island and Marut’s life hangs in the balance, Ondine learns that true power lies in surrender to her elemental nature.

Reader Advisory: This book contains scenes of light bondage.

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*****

Excerpt:

“Ondine.”

She whirled to face him. She hadn’t heard the squeak of the old screen door hinges, yet there he was, tall and dark as a thunderhead—gloriously naked. His piercing eyes pinned her in place. His noble forehead arched up to the explosion of frizzy curls that framed his skull. His skin gleamed as though it had been oiled. He stood before her—no, loomed above her—his muscled legs parted, his arms crossed over his chest, sniffing for her all-too-obvious scent. His nostrils flared like a thoroughbred racehorse and his prominent lips curled into a confident smile.

And there, rising from its nest of inky fur, was the cock she’d caressed out on the beach, a proud cylinder of dark flesh with a slick, mauve cap. In their frenzied groping upon the rocks, she hadn’t really seen his organ clearly, but now…

She’d read that primitive cultures worshipped the phallus as the source of all power. Now she understood, in a most visceral sense, how this could be. She wanted to fall on her knees before this vision of male potency, to beg for a touch, for a taste. Use me, something in her cried, though in fact his beauty and vitality struck her dumb. Helpless, terrified, swamped by need, she waited for him to make the first move.

The strange wind blew around them. Marut’s eyes glittered like chips of hematite. He stared into her soul, asking questions she didn’t dare acknowledge. Unable to bear his scrutiny for more than a few moments, she dropped her gaze to his bare feet, graceful and strong as the rest of him, and waited for him to take her.

“Ondine.” Her name on his lips was moonlight on a tropical lagoon, a gentle surf kissing the shore.

He won’t hurt me, she realised with sudden conviction. Then why was she so afraid?

He reached for her. She sucked air into her lungs, tensing against that first touch that she knew would drown her in irresistible lust. Instead, without any skin-to-skin contact, he took the T-shirt dangling from her hand and pulled it over his head.

Startled, she looked up. His massive erection bobbed against his white-clad belly, more prominent than ever.

“I’ll go now,” he told her. He turned to pull his pants off the line, sending clothes pins flying. As Ondine watched in fascination, he struggled into the tight garment and zipped away his swollen member. “I’d rather stay, but I don’t think you’re ready yet to face who and what you are.”

The bulge under the denim taunted her. Her mouth watered at her recollection of his smoothness, his hardness, his overwhelming maleness. Still she couldn’t bring herself to speak, to ask for what she wanted.

“I’ve left my mobile number for you on the kitchen table.” He headed in that direction and she followed like some mute animal. “If you call, I can be here in less than half an hour. I’m staying in Edgartown.”

“Um—ah—thanks.” She walked him to the front porch, where he’d left his boots. As he crouched to tie the laces, she marvelled that such a simple act could be so incredibly sensual.

When he was shod, he hoisted his pack full of equipment and faced her once more. He reached out to cup her cheek, following the curve without actually touching her. “I’m so grateful I found you,” he murmured. “I’ve been alone for a very long time.”

Sparks prickled across the gap between their flesh.

“But you need to realise that you’re in control. I won’t make a move unless you ask. I respect you, Ondine. I know before long that I’ll love you, as I did in my last life, and that you’ll love me.”

Love? This awful craving doesn’t feel like love. More like some disease.

*****

Contest!

Win a copy of Rough Weather plus a copy of its sequel,  Hot Spell, the book in which Ondine and Marut first made their appearance. To enter, send an email to contest [at] lisabetsarai [dot] com with the subject line “Rough Weather Giveaway”. Contest closes on March 31, 2014.

*****

Bio

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 – more than 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.

For more information about Lisabet and her writing, visit her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com) or her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com). She also hangs out at the group blog Oh Get a Grip (http://ohgetagrip.blogspot.com), writes monthly reviews for Erotica Revealed (http://www.eroticarevealed.com) and contributes to the ERWA blog (http://erotica-readers.blogspot.com).

Guest Blogger: Lisabet Sarai

Rajasthani MoonFirst 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 [http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books_index.html] 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!

 

Blurb

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?

Buy Links

You can buy the book at your favorite online store:

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Excerpt

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 SaraiAbout Lisabet

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.

For more information about Lisabet and her writing, visit her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com) or her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com)