So today’s my birthday. Not such a big deal when you get to be my age! It’s likely to be just another day. I have to work from nine to six, and don’t really have anything special planned for the evening. Probably my DH and I will have dinner at some local restaurant, share some wine, and go to bed before midnight.
But – I do want to celebrate here. So, I’ve got some presents for you, my beloved readers.
First of all, one of you can win a $5 bookstore gift voucher. All you have to do is leave a comment with your email address.
Second, I’m giving away free copies of my romantic BDSM short story collection, Hearts and Handcuffs, in your choice of formats, to everyone who wants it. Just go to Smashwords:
Put the book into your cart, then use this coupon code when you check out:
The price will drop to zero, and you can download the book in mobi (Kindle), epub, or pdf format.
Not sure if you’re interested? Here’s the blurb:
Kink can be life-changing, cathartic, a spiritual experience. Sometimes, though, it’s just plain fun—particularly when your partner is someone special. Hearts & Handcuffs presents the lighter side of BDSM—the naughty joy to be found in exploring your pervy fantasies with someone whose desires complement your own—in six sizzling short stories that showcase Lisabet Sarai’s famously sexy prose.
In “Spank-o-gram”, a grumpy birthday boy receives an unexpected gift from his distant lover. “Wired” shows the extremes a woman will go to in order to get the attention of the man she wants. A neglected and frustrated slave turns the tables on her master in “Domestic Goddess”. In “Spank Me Again, Stranger”, a city gal learns how they celebrate birthdays out in ranch country. A case of mistaken identity leads to a dream come true in “Routine Maintenance”. The title tale “Hearts and Handcuffs” is a Valentine’s Day role playing romp, complete with costumes.
And here’s a light-hearted snippet from “Spank-o-gram”.
Okay, I'll admit that I was sulking. I had the right. It was nine PM on my birthday, and I was alone. No one had called or sent me a card. No one had invited me out to lunch or dinner. My housemate was away dealing with a family emergency and wouldn't be back until the next morning. I slouched in front of the TV, eating the Häagen Dasz capuccino truffle I'd bought for myself as a consolation present and meditating on my miserable existence.
When the doorbell rang, I considered ignoring it. Who could it be after all? Some buttoned up Jehovah's Witnesses, maybe, or someone who got the wrong address. Hardly worth the energy of getting up off the couch.
The visitor punched the bell again, more forcefully. I thought I heard frustrated determination in that ring. When I still didn't answer, whoever was out there leaned on the button for a full ten seconds.
“All right, all right, keep your shirt on! I'm coming!” Setting my sticky bowl down on the side table, I made my way to the door. I couldn't see anything through the peephole, but then, it was pretty dark. “Who is it?” I called.
“Spank-o-gram for Mr. Sandberg.” The voice was deep, but definitely female. My curiosity got the better of my caution. I opened the door. A tall woman of uncertain age wearing a gray uniform and carrying a clipboard glared at my tee shirt and gym shorts.
“You are Mr. Sandberg?” Her tone suggested that if I weren't, I'd better have a darn good excuse.
“Um—uh—yeah, that's me.” I was taking her in—all six feet of her. Her hair, a violent red that reminded me of those old troll dolls, was pulled into an old-fashioned twist. Her suit jacket strained with the effort of containing her full breasts. The skirt of her uniform stretched equally tight over her ample hips. Her face was all angles—high cheekbones, prominent nose, square chin—attractive in a ferocious sort of way. She resembled a female Genghis Khan.
“Vell, are you goink to ask me in?” She poked my chest, interrupting my appreciative reverie. “I do not have all night. I have two more after you.” When I still didn’t answer, she swept past me, obviously tired of waiting. As she strode into my living room, I noted the way her curve of her ass distorted her uniform. I'd never seen anyone look less official.
“Two more what?” I followed her, bemused. My cock was hardening inside my shorts. I felt as flustered and uncertain as a teenager.
“I told you. Spank-o-grams.” She set her clipboard down next to my bowl. “Someone ordered one for you. Is your birthday, yes?”
“Ah ... yes...”
“Vell then.” She seated herself on the couch, back straight. Her taut skirt rode up, exposing her meaty thighs. “On my lap. I do not have time to vaste.”
Get your copy of this fun book while you can! The coupon expires next week.
And don’t forget to leave a comment and enter the gift certificate drawing!