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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.

Buy Links
Totally Bound
All Romance Ebooks
Amazon US
Amazon UK

*****

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:

Amazon

Amazon UK

Barnes & Noble

All Romance Ebooks

Total-E-Bound  (TEB can send books directly to your ereader)

 

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)

New Release: Nasty Business by Lisabet Sarai

Nasty BusinessNASTY BUSINESS

LISABET SARAI

Available from:
Amazon UK
Amazon US
All Romance eBooks
Smashwords

All’s fair in lust and business

Ruby Maxwell Chen, lovely and ruthless CEO of a huge British business empire, is used to getting her way. When she encounters the strangely charismatic American entrepreneur Rick Martell, though, she wonders if she hasn’t finally met her match.

From the trendy clubs of London to the Hollywood Hills, Ruby and Rick compete for ownership of a strategic factory in Malaysia. Neither has any qualms about using sexual wiles to smooth the path to success. Neither anticipates that their mutual attraction will turn into something far more intense and difficult to control.

As their struggle for dominance escalates, they draw their employees and associates into their outrageous power games. The stakes could scarcely be higher, as Ruby and Rick play for the ultimate prize: a night of total physical surrender.

Novel-length book includes “Shades of Red”, a bonus story about Ruby’s introduction to BDSM!

*****

As good as I am at this game, I’m finding it difficult. I know, intellectually, that ignoring her, pretending to honor my promise, will heighten her frustration and ultimately, weaken her defenses. If I came on to her, she’d resist. By seeming to hold back, I draw her to me.

I can feel the arousal emanating from the trim form strapped into the seat next to me. Her body language speaks volumes, though she struggles to silence it. She’s dying to have me touch her, or to touch herself.

The problem is, I have to struggle myself not to reach for her. I have to resist this nearly overwhelming urge to slide that designer skirt up her slim thigh, exposing her smooth flesh. My fingers itch to stretch across the console and tweak those ripe nipples poking through her blouse. My half-hard dick presses uncomfortably against my zipper.

I watch the pavement twisting in front of my hood. I push the roadster a bit harder. Obedient, she races around the curves, graceful and powerful. An extension of my body, my will. Ruby’s lips are parted. Her hair has come free from its clasp and flows around her face in jet waves. I want to control Ruby the same way I control my car. I want to feel her respond when I press the pedal a bit closer to the floor.

A sideways glance tells me that she’s looking at me. I risk a few seconds of inattention to turn and grin at her lasciviously. “Take off your blouse, Ruby. Go ahead, you know you want to.” The wind tears my words away, but I know she hears me. There’s defiance in her eyes, mixing with the lust. “Come on. I dare you.”

A contest, then. Briefly, emotions war on her face. Her lust wins. She smiles at me, provocatively.

“Keep your eyes on the road, Martell. You’ll get us killed.”

She’s right. I switch my focus a second too late and barely miss grazing the inside guard rail. When I can afford another look, she’s naked to the waist. Her fingers are torturing her plump, rosy nipples. Even in that quick instant, it seems that I can see them thicken and grow darker as blood surges into them.

Now Ruby cups her flesh in both hands, kneading, stroking. Her breasts are pale, perfect hemispheres tipped with flame. I would have thought the wind would blow her scent away, but no, her musk permeates the open car. My cock stirs and demands to be set free. I look back at the road, my heart slamming against my ribs as another curve whistles by.

My next glance shows me her parted thighs. She fidgets on the leather upholstery, though her hands are still massaging her tits. Crudely, I jerk my thumb upwards, then wiggle my middle finger at her.

She is already pulling up her skirt, not waiting for my suggestion. Looking me straight in the eye, she spreads her legs wide, pulls her panties out of the way, and sinks four fingers into her glistening cunt.

My dick jerks to full attention. I watch, fascinated, as she grinds herself feverishly against her hand, pummeling her clit, pinching those scarlet lips until they are almost purple. Her eyes are shut. Her back is arched, pelvis thrust forward to provide maximum access. She’s a tiger, tearing at her own flesh in hungry fury. Her scent rises around us, drowning out the eucalyptus that always lingers in the southern California air. There’s an ache in my chest that mirrors the one in my cock. I’ve never wanted anyone so much.

At the last minute, I swerve, barely avoiding the shiny Cadillac coming at me from the other direction. Adrenaline courses through me at the near miss. Ruby doesn’t even notice.

There’s a turn-out ahead. Hands shaking, I pull into the semicircular parking area and shut off the engine. Now I can hear Ruby as well as see and smell her. She moans and cries as she thrashes around on the seat. Her mouth is open, her teeth clenched. She sounds as though she is in pain. Her harsh grunts become rhythmic and rise in pitch as I watch her ascend the final slope to her climax.

I stroke myself through my trousers, in time with her climb. I’m back in control, turned on but pacing myself. I know that I’ll get what I want eventually. Ruby twists and writhes. Both her hands are deep in her cunt. Her juices run down her wrists. It’s unbelievable how hard she is on herself. I remember her flogger, wish that I had it with me now. She wouldn’t even feel it, but it might help her over.

Then, without warning, Ruby screams and arches up off the seat. Her whole body convulses, then abruptly collapses. Little tremors continue to shake her frame for long minutes. Her eyes are closed; she seems unconscious.

She looks fragile, porcelain skin misted with sweat, tangles of hair stuck to her forehead. I suddenly want to take her in my arms, cradle her, brush those tangled locks away and kiss her eyelids until she awakens. At the same time, I have a perverse urge to loose my cock and sink it into her passive, defenseless flesh. To finally make her mine.

*****

More than a decade ago LISABET SARAI experienced a serendipitous fusion of her love of writing and her fascination with sex. Since then she has published five single author short story collections and seven erotic novels, including the BDSM classic Raw Silk. Dozens of her shorter works have been released as ebooks and in print anthologies. She has also edited several acclaimed anthologies and is currently responsible for the altruistic erotica series COMING TOGETHER PRESENTS.

Lisabet holds more degrees than anyone needs from prestigious universities who would no doubt be embarrassed by her chosen genre. She loves to travel and currently lives in Southeast Asia with her highly tolerant husband and two cosmopolitan felines. For more information on Lisabet and her writing visit Lisabet Sarai’s Fantasy Factory (http://www.lisabetsarai.com) or her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com).