Happy Walpurgis, Happy Release Day! #NewRelease #Giveaway #BDSM #Walpurgis

It’s probably not on your personal calendar, but tonight is Walpurgisnacht. In Germany and Scandinavia the night of April 30^th is celebrated as the witches’ sabbath. On this night, it is said, witches and other unholy creatures gather on the mountaintops to kindle bonfires, cast spells and dance with the Devil until dawn. Various northern cultures mark the date with drunken revelry, promiscuous sex, lewd practical jokes, and huge fires to drive the witches away.

The Spring festival clearly predates Christianity, but has been grafted onto Saint Valpurga’s Day on May 1^st. Walpurgisnacht (also called “Hexennacht” in Germany) has influenced many writers, artists and musicians. References appear in work by Goethe, Bram Stoker, Thomas Mann and Edward Albee. Mussorgsky’s “Night on Bald Mountain” is a symphonic impression of Hex Night (brought to life with still-stunning animation in the 1941 Disney classic Fantasia), while William Gilbert and Arthur Sullivan gave a slightly comic twist to the macabre legend in their operetta “Ruddigore”.

As it happens, today is also release day for my latest book, the next volume in my D&S Duos series. Book 6 includes two searing tales of erotic surrender.

In “Muse”, an author of soft-kink erotic romance discovers the reality of serving a true Master.

“Détente” is a BDSM-flavored ménage tale, about a woman torn between her husband and her Master.

Both are explicit and emotionally intense.

You can find an exclusive excerpt here:

https://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/2020/04/coming-next-week-more-delicious-bdsm.html

D&S Duos Book 6 is available now! Why not pick up a copy and experience the thrill of erotic surrender?

Kinky Literature – https://www.kinkyliterature.com/book/6899-ds-duos-book-6/

Amazon US – https://www.amazon.com/D-S-Duos-Book-6-ebook/dp/B087HHF835

Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/D-S-Duos-Book-6-ebook/dp/B087HHF835

Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1017280

Barnes and Noble – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/d-s-duos-book-6-lisabet-sarai/1136902309?ean=2940164047849

Kobo – https://www.kobo.com/th/en/ebook/d-s-duos-book-6

Meanwhile to celebrate the release, I’m giving away copies of the first and second D&S Duos books, to two randomly chosen people who comment. Don’t forget to leave your email.

D&S Duos Book 1 combines two of my 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. Also includes a searing excerpt from my BDSM erotic thriller Bangkok Noir.

D&S Duos Book 2 continues my incendiary series with two more intense BDSM short stories. In "Never Too Late", a middle-aged wife and mother encounters the Master of whom she's secretly dreamed all her life. In "Just a Spanking", a dominant provides an answer to the question he's asked his long-time submissive: could you come from just a spanking? Also includes a spicy F/F BDSM excerpt from my erotic thriller Exposure.

Artificial Articles for Anal Insertion - #buttplug #hotbuttons #erotica

Today I'm going to discuss a particular device that appears in so many of my stories that I guess it comes close to qualifying as an obsession. Those of you with more delicate sensibilities might want to stop reading now, because, yes, I'm going to talk about butt plugs.

I was about to write, “My first novel did not include any butt plugs”. Then I realized that this wasn't true - on the very last page, in the Epilogue, one magically appears from the dominant's pocket and is inserted into the heroine's derriere as she bends over, bound, in front of a crowd. Was that the beginning of my fascination with artificial articles for anal insertion? Or do the origins of the butt plug's appeal lie further back in my history?

I've written too many novels and stories to do an enumeration (and anyway, I'm too lazy!), but I'm willing to bet that a butt plug has sneaked into at least eighty percent of the BDSM tales I've penned. So I have to ask myself, why does this category of toy keep popping up (or perhaps I should say “popping in”) in my fiction?

In the interest of journalistic honesty I must admit that I've never used a butt plug, either as the inserter or insertee. However, all you have to do is look at one of these items to feel dirty and nasty. They are the epitome of the obscene. They are available in a huge range of sizes, colors and styles – smooth or with ridges, capped with rings or feathers or even horsetails.

A butt plug can be used as warm-up, stretching the sphincter in preparation for deeper and more energetic penetration. One sexy scenario involves training a sub by inserting progressively larger plugs each day in order to increase his or her capacity for buggery. I used this notion in Rajasthani Moon, where the devilish rajah works to prepare Cecily for her sacrificial encounter with a werewolf. 

A plug can be used as a punishment, or as a tease. In my story “Just a Spanking”, in D&S Duos: Book 2, the Dom required his sub to wear one under her clothing while lecturing to her undergraduate class about computer science. Every time she moves she feels it shift inside her, reminding her of her submission to his will, and pushing her closer to orgasm.

Live anal sex can be intensely erotic, a celebration of trust and a pushing of limits. Being plugged is just plain embarrassing, even if it feels good. In fact, the more embarrassed, humiliated and ashamed the victim is, the hotter the scene.

I realize that not every reader will share my enthusiasm for this device. To each his (or her) own. I won't say that butt plugs are exactly a fetish, but at very least I seemed to have imbued them with a remarkable amount of erotic charge. They worm their way (so to speak) into my writing even when I'm not paying attention. And I seem to associate them very strongly with power games. I don't recall ever incorporating one in a non-BDSM tale.

Maybe what I need to do is write a story that involves nothing but butt plugs, as a way of exorcising this kinky cliché from my work. You know, the way eating a whole basket of cherries can turn you off cherries for life? No fellatio or cunnilingus, no nipple clamps or whips, no genital sex – just the torment/delight of being plugged. But who would want to read such a tale? Unless I'm not alone in this obsession...

Butt Plugs Anonymous, anyone?

Saturday Spanks: Never Too Late - #SaturdaySpanks #BDSMErotica #Giveaway

 

For today’s Saturday Spanks, I have an excerpt from my short story “Never Too Late”, published in D&S Duos 2. If you like “serious” kink erotica and erotic romance, you should check out this series (four books), which collect some of my most intense and emotional D/s tales.

Today I am giving away a copy of D&S Duos 2. Just leave me a comment!

He lounges in a chair by the window. The drapes are open. The lights of the Inner Harbor sparkle on the other side of the glass. The room is dim and I'm briefly grateful. Perhaps he will not notice my flaws.

"Good evening, Elizabeth." He doesn't rise. He makes me come to him. I stand before him, eyes cast down, feeling like a naughty schoolgirl. Sweat pools under my arms, spoiling my best silk blouse. Moisture gathers in my pussy.

"Um – I don't even know your name," I stutter.

"Yes, you do. Think."

I recreate my memory of him, from that fateful moment when I stepped into the lift and found it occupied. Tall, a bit overweight, but distinguished in his tailored charcoal suit. Black hair, dark eyes, brows that arched in appreciation as he surveyed me. I struggle to recall his badge. Even before he had spoken, I'd been flustered and aroused. Distracted. "Mark?" I say finally, a half guess.

"Good girl. You see, you know more about me than you think you do. You know you can trust me, don't you?"

"What?" Before I understand what's happening, he's looming over me, taking possession of my mouth, rolling my rigid nipples between his finger and thumb and kindling sparks. He tastes of the after-dinner mints they offer in the hotel coffee shop. His hands explore my body, weighing my breasts, groping my ass. Helpless, beyond rationality, I melt again.

"You know instinctively," he murmurs in my ear. "I'm the master you've dreamed of." He nips the tender flesh of the lobe hard enough to make me cry out. "I'm the one who will make you beg for mercy and scream with pleasure."

"No," I say. "I haven't. I can't. I'm married." My pro forma protests are weak, even to my own ears. He is already tearing the clothing from me. The first time his fingers graze my bare skin, electricity sizzles along the surface, down to my cunt. I moan, pressing against his still-clothed body. He chuckles and steps away.

"Turn around. Let me look at you. Especially at that fat ass." My face burns with embarrassment asI follow his instructions. It never occurs to me to object. I feel his eyes on the butt that I can't seem to shrink no matter how many hours I spend on the Stairmaster.

"Lovely," he says and I glow with pride. He is pleased. That's all I seem to need. He strokes my ample backside. When he moves away again, I nearly cry from the loss.

"I want you across my lap. I want to turn that pale flesh of yours a nice, rosy pink."

I obey. I can't believe that I'm doing it, but I stretch myself along his thighs. The fine wool of his slacks is distended at the groin. I rub my damp bush against the hard mass of his erection, the emotional pleasure almost trumping the physical. He wants me. That's all that really matters.

"Be still, slut!" He slaps my ass cheek with terrible force. The pain is a shock. He brings his palm down again on the other side, even harder. I whimper and try not to move.

He rains blows down on my tender flesh. Sometimes he lands a stinging smack at the back of my plump thighs. Sometimes he catches me across the crevice between my cheeks. The pain builds and builds until tears blur my vision, but still he spanks me, again and again, with the same ferocity he showed me in the elevator.

My ass feels as though it's bleeding and raw, yet still he beats me. His strength and stamina appear to have no limits. Floating in a red sea of pain, I sense his jubilation. As much as he has me in thrall,

I'm also giving him what he needs. I know somehow he would stop if I told him to do so. I can't bring myself to that point. I don't want to disappoint him.

When he finally does stop, I hardly notice. I've grown accustomed to the sharp sting and the deeper ache from earlier strokes. It's all I've ever known, all I want to know.

Blurb

D&S Duos Book 2 continues Lisabet Sarai's incendiary series with two more intense BDSM short stories. In "Never Too Late", a middle-aged wife and mother encounters the Master of whom she's secretly dreamed all her life. In "Just a Spanking", a dominant provides an answer to the question he's asked his long-time submissive: could you come from just a spanking? Also includes a spicy F/F BDSM excerpt from Lisabet's erotic thriller EXPOSURE.

Buy Links

Amazon US: http://www.amazon.com/D-S-Duos-Book-2-ebook/dp/B00T8G2IMU

Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/D-S-Duos-Book-2-ebook/dp/B00T8G2IMU/

Excessica: http://www.excessica.com/books/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=6&products_id=827

Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/d-s-duos-lisabet-sarai/1121171237?ean=2940150011359

Body Electric - #BDSM #Electricity #MFRWHooks

I’ve been away for the past two weeks—hope you have all been enjoying yourselves! Just got back yesterday, a few hours before the Book Hooks deadline.

This hook is from my story “Body Electric”, one of two BDSM erotic romance tales in D&S Duos Book 1. I have four volumes in this series, each (as suggested by the series title) including two tales of power exchange. These books tend more toward “literary” erotica, but almost all have at least a hint of romance. Many focus on relationships between committed couples. 

 

In "Body Electric", a professor of engineering charms his female colleague into experiments on the erotic effects of electricity. In "Limits", the second tale in this volume, a long-established kinky couple push their relationship to next level of trust.

You can get a copy of the book here:

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/D-S-Duos-Book-1-ebook/dp/B00RODBLXQ

BN: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/d-s-duos-lisabet-sarai/1121014936?ean=2940150090774

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/732584

Here’s the hook:

He didn't look like an engineer. He smiled and postured and gestured expansively as if reciting poetry or making a speech. Half a dozen females surrounded him, hanging on his every word. Periodically the little knot of women (which even included crusty old Margaret Evans) would burst into self-conscious laughter. Dean Evans would look around nervously, then return her attentive gaze to the towering shaggy-haired orator in their midst, as if he were a combination of Tom Cruise and Mahatma Gandhi.

A politician, or a TV celebrity, or even the leader of cult – I could readily believe that he was any of these as I watched him fascinate his listeners. But an assistant professor from the department of electrical engineering? Highly implausible. But true nevertheless. Earlier in the evening, my colleague Loren had given me a full briefing. Dr. Ryan Moresby was apparently a brilliant teacher, a talented inventor, and a rising star in his department. In addition, Loren emphasized, he was single, which was surprising considering his obvious talent in attracting the opposite sex. Of course, why would someone with that kind of charisma want to settle down?

I wondered idly how many of the women in that little circle of his he had bedded, then gave myself a mental slap on the hand. I had to stop thinking like that! Ever since I completed my dissertation, I had found myself speculating on other people's secret lives and desires. My research on women's erotic literature was, of course, impeccably scholarly, serious and restrained, carefully purged of any salacious elements. My sources, though, were anything but. Their enduring influence on my thoughts was only too clear.

~ ~ ~

I hope you’ll drop by to visit the other authors participating in this week’s Book Hooks hop!

Versatile? Or indecisive? (#genre #amwriting #giveaway)

I've blogged in the past about my tendency to skip from genre to genre, and the problem that poses for building a brand. Marketing pundits argue that readers who enjoy one book you publish will want more of the same. As an author, though, more of the same is the last thing I want to produce. One of the great joys of writing, for me, is the challenge of new genres and combinations thereof. Hence, over the course of my twelve year writing career, I've published BDSM (M/f, F/m, M/m and F/f), ménage, GLBT (both M/M and F/F), paranormal, historical, science fiction, suspense, multicultural/interracial, steampunk and fantasy.

Should the diversity of my back list be attributed to versatility? Or lack of a market focus? Of course I'd rather believe the former. In any case, the reason doesn't really matter. If I had to stick to a single genre and style, I'd simply stop writing, out of boredom. I suppose that if I were trying to make my living through my writing, I could force myself to churn out one BDSM book (for example) after another. However, that would really kill the joy for me. I'd rather sell fewer books but have them surprise and delight my readers.

I'm versatile (or indecisive) in another area as well – the length of what I write. My first published work was an 80,000 word novel (RawSilk). My second publication was a 4,000 word short story (“Glass House” in the Black Lace collection Wicked Words 8 ). Over the years I've published nine novels, more than fifty short stories in various anthologies, and a selection of other work (novellas or whatever) that fall in between on the length dimension.

The target length of a work strongly influences both my process and my style. A short story (6,000 words or less, by my definition) is like a charcoal sketch, a few bold strokes that suggest rather than define – an intentionally rough framework that allows the reader to complete the picture based on his or her own imagination. I can usually draft a short story in a single afternoon (although I may have been thinking about the tale for days). In fact, I've found that the short stories I write quickly tend to be more effective and engaging than those I agonize over. For me, inspiration plays a major role in generating short fiction.

Novels require far more deliberation. I don't usually create a detailed outline, but depending on the book, I may have a scene list, character profiles and/or a time line. Furthermore, it takes me months to write a novel. Although each chapter tends to be short-story length, there are far more decisions to be made. My novels tend to have fifteen to twenty chapters, but I can't create one in three weeks of afternoon writing sessions!

When writing a novel, I am simultaneously aware of a whole range of issues. How much should I reveal about the characters and their goals, and how soon? How can I maintain suspense without confusing or annoying the reader? Will I have a single cataclysmic climax, or a building series of smaller resolutions? Who are the minor characters and what are their roles?

In addition, there are the issues of consistency and repetition. I sometimes find myself writing a scene and thinking, “Gee, this sounds awfully familiar...” Or I'll realize that I've totally forgotten to include some critical events, without which the story just won't make sense.

So novels are much slower and more consciously-crafted works, at least for me.

Novellas – tales between ten and thirty thousand words long, which seem to be very popular in the romance world – fall into an intermediate category. My main romance publisher calls a 10-15K work a “short story”, but wants the tale to be divided into chapters. Unlike what I would term a short story, there are usually multiple scenes and a plot arc, like a novel. On the other hand, there's not enough time to get into much detail about the context, setting or history. The romantic attraction has to occur more or less immediately. There's not time enough for a slow build.

So what do you prefer, long, short or in-between? Or are you like me, a fan of variety? Leave me a comment below – with your email – and you could win your choice of a novel (Exposure, an erotic thriller) or a book with two short stories (D&S Duos 1).

Just a Spanking (#bdsm #spanking #eroticromance)

 
Happy Saturday!

Somehow I neglected to book a guest for today. That’s okay, though. This means I can participate in the Saturday Spankings meme.

I believe this is the first time I’ve done so. Somehow I suspect it won’t be the last.

This snippet is from my story “Just a Spanking”, one of the two BDSM tales in my book D&S Duos 2. Hope you like it!

He makes me wait. Heat shimmers through me. Blood pounds in my ears. I study my toes and listen to my breath. Fear and excitement co-mingle, until I can't tell one from the other. My bratty determination to make him touch me fades away, although my clit still throbs and my juices trickle down my thighs. All I want is to please him. I'll wait forever if that is what it takes. Indeed, a part of me would rather wait than know what comes next.

“All right, Rebecca,” he says finally. “Kneel on the footstool and stretch your body across my legs.” I look up to find that he has placed one of the throw pillows on his lap. I understand that he wants a barrier between my body and his possible erection. Plus the cushion is too soft to provide much friction. Obviously he has planned this carefully. I would not have expected less from him.

I am awkward as I clamber onto the ottoman and spread my body across his lap. The padded stool is the perfect height. When I bend at the hip, my belly rests on the cushion and my ass is in air, just to the right of his body. I rest my chest on the chair to his left, cradling my head in my crossed arms. I'm not uncomfortable. I feel stable and well-supported.

“Thighs together. That's right. Bring your knees closer to the chair. Good.” I comply as promptly as I can. The shift raises my butt higher. I'm totally accessible. Completely vulnerable.

It's delicious.

Usually he warms me up when he's about to spank me. He will stroke and knead my buttocks, then pinch me hard just as I am starting to relax. More often than not he'll slip a blunt finger between my cheeks and swirl it around in my pussy. He'll tell me what a pervert I am, to be so wet at the mere thought of being beaten. I'll be torn between embarrassment and pride. I know that this is one reason why he wants me.

Tonight, though, the only warm up is more waiting. He doesn't touch me, though I can feel his eyes like ghostly fingers on my exposed flesh. My cunt feels heavy and swollen, pressed against the cushion. I shift my position the tiniest bit and pleasure sparks from my clit to my nipples and back again in a maddening cycle.

“Be still,” he orders. “No squirming around. No humping the pillow. This is a spanking, pure and simple. You may yell or cry as much as you want. But I don't want you to move. That will spoil it.”

There's menace in his voice, and promise. We are about to embark on a new adventure together.

“Do you understand?”

I'm sure he feels me tremble as I nod, but he doesn't chide me. Instead he brings the flat of his hand down hard on my ass. 

 

Sunday Snog 234: Never Too Late (#bdsm #romance #sundaysnog)

My Sunday Snog today is from “Never Too Late”, one of the two stories in D&S Duos Book 2. It’s not your typical BDSM romance. The protagonists are middle-aged strangers who meet at a conference and recognize one another as soul mates.

Get your copy of D&S Duos 2 here:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00T8G2IMU/

When you’re done with my kiss excerpt, head back to Victoria Blisse’sSunday Snog page, for more sexy oral action!

"Look up, over your head." Leather cuffs, fastened to the headboard by clever straps. I swallow hard. My clit throbs, aching for stimulation.

"Do you always bring sex toys when you attend a conference?" I try for lightness, humor, anything to defuse the intensity. Does he really intend to tie me up?

"Not always. I had a feeling about this one, though..." He runs his thumb along the line of my jaw then slips it between my lips. I suck on it with the same enthusiasm I lavished on his cock. "I've been waiting for you a long time."

I've been waiting for him, too. I never knew, never realized. The comfortable, happy years with my husband and kids – the birthdays, the graduations, the snug, familiar, ordinary times – are suddenly as insubstantial as the fog gathering over the harbor. His hands on my body and his iron will are my only realities.

"Do you want me to bind you, Elizabeth?" He knows the answer but he's going to force me to say it out loud.

I can't bring myself to admit it. Heat crawls into my cheeks. I want to look away, to escape from those eyes tunneling into my soul, but he won't allow me to do so. "Well? If you don't want the cuffs, we can forget about them..."

"No!" I sputter, afraid that he means it. "I want them. Please." Now there's a huge sense of relief, magnified by his satisfied smile.

"Of course," he says, raising my arm above my head and snapping the snug bracelet around my wrist. "Whatever you want." In an instant, the other wrist is secure. The sensation of helplessness is overwhelming.

"I'm going to fuck you now, for the first time," my master tells me. "The first time of many, I hope." He smoothes a condom down the length of his cock. My mouth waters. I want to tell him to take off the rubber. I want to feel him, flesh against flesh. But I'm still too shy.

There's no foreplay. He knows I've been soaked from the moment I entered the room. His cock slides into my cunt like a key fitting a lock. I grip him with my inner muscles, pulling him deeper.

He's smaller than my husband, but thicker and much harder. I dismiss the pang of guilt that flickers through me. This, now – this is definitely cheating. The blow job, the spanking – one could make a case that they didn't count, but now another man is ramming his cock into my cunt and I have no excuse.

Except that I have no choice. I can't say no. It would kill me. I've never known anything like this fevered bliss. The stranger – Mark – hovers above me, driving his cock deeper with each stroke. I'm wholly open. It's what I've craved all my life and never known. I swear I never dreamed of this – did I? He makes me wonder, as he fucks me like the slut that I am. Perhaps I've always craved this kind of surrender, my dark desires hidden even from myself.

His cock breaks me apart and remakes me as someone else. I strain against the welcome bonds, grinding my pelvis against his. I'm crying from the pain and joy of it. My cunt shudders around him as I come, and come again. He won't let me look away.

I'm transparent to him. He knows who I am, what I want. There's no need for shame. As I gaze into his eyes, for a moment he's equally open. We connect. I sense his need and his triumph.

"Mine!" he growls as he swells and explodes in my pussy, still fluttering from my last orgasm. The heat bathing my tissues drags me over the edge one last time.

He releases my wrists and cradles me, kissing my eyelids, murmuring endearments. I'm in some sort of trance. I just lie there, enjoying his attentions, wondering idly when his demons will wake again.

Back List Blast: D&S Duos Book 1 (#bdsm #erotic #electricplay)

Get your copy today! Amazon B&N Excessica

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.

Everybody wins around here!

Congratulations to all the readers who have been chosen as winners in my various giveaways.

Jessie has won a copy of Her Secret Ingredient for commenting on my super-hot airplane sex snog from The Ingredients of Bliss.

Tiana and Yolanda each won a $10 bookstore gift certificate in my monthly VIP Readers Giveaway.

What's that all about, you ask?

Once a month, I run a contest exclusively for the people on my VIP email list. If you'd like to join, just send me an email at lisabet [at] lisabetarai [dot] com. You'll get first notice about all my releases and contests, as well as prizes being offered by my blog guests. It's not a high volume list, rarely more than half a dozen messages per week.

And while we're talking about prizes, have you completed my reader survey yet. It closes the 25th of July. Everyone who responds gets a coupon for a free erotic romance, and one lucky individual will receive a $50 gift certificate to the bookstore of his or her choice.

To complete the survey, just click here:

https://www.surveymonkey.com/s/JGNFVY8

Since you've taken the time to read this far...why don't I give something else away?

Leave me a comment below and I'll enter you to win any of my D&S Duos volumes of romantic BDSM erotica. Not sure if you'd like them? Here's a quick excerpt from "Like Riding a Bicycle", in volume 4.

"Silence, Mariah. Do not speak unless I ask you a direct question."

"But..." She's beginning to understand, but she's still fighting the notion. I can see her mentally reviewing all the tasks she has remaining on today's to do list.

"Did I ask you a question?"

"No...sir." In that fraction of a second delay, between "No" and "sir", my heart sinks. What am I doing? Those days are gone. Then the honorific rolls off her tongue and my spirit soars. She remembers. My cock throbs inside my jeans. Her muscles relax. She bows her head, letting go of her rebellion, and I think for a moment I'll shoot right then and there, like the horny grad student I was when we met.

"Get over here, girl." My fifty-three year old, full professor wife seems to not find the epithet as ridiculous as it sounds to me. She crawls across the carpet, grasping my intent almost before I do. Her lovely fat ass (about which she constantly complains) is in the air. Her breasts swing beneath her. She makes her slow way to my feet, then rises to her knees once again.

Her cheeks are flushed. A barely perceptible sheen of sweat dampens her forehead. A lock of hair has worked itself loose to curl seductively under her pointed chin. Her hazel eyes meet mine for an instant. I can read her excitement and uncertainty. I nod and give in to the smile twitching at my lips. She exhales the breath she's been holding and lowers her gaze, awaiting my next command.

Power burns through me, raw and smooth as a swallow of fine Scotch. What shall I require next? I want to see her naked; should I tear her clothes off, cut them away, or make her strip for me? And then what? Alternatives fill my imagination, a delirious whirl of possibilities. I didn't plan this. I have no script.

I try to focus, to slow my own breathing and quiet my racing heart. Outwardly calm, inwardly quivering with arousal, I rise from my chair.
"Stand up, Mariah."

She hastens to obey, stepping her feet apart and clasping her hands at the small of her back. I doubt it's even conscious. It seems that she's quicker to reclaim the old knowledge than I am.

Towering over her, I remove her glasses and set them aside, out of harm's way. Then I pull her shirt over her head and toss it into a corner. Her opulent breasts sag a bit more than they used to, but the plump nipples are as juicy and brazen as ever. Who'd believe they'd nursed a child? I can't resist the urge to give them a vicious twist. Mariah gasps but otherwise remains silent.

"No bra, slut?" I tip her face up to mine, reveling in her embarrassment.

"No, sir. You told me to always be ready for you." Indeed, I had given her those instructions, a thousand years ago, when we were first discovering each other.

"Quite so. And are you wearing panties?" Without waiting for a reply, I stretch the elastic and push the shorts down over her ample hips. The rich scent of her pussy wells up from between her parted thighs. I slide one finger into her slick folds and wriggle it deep into her body. She shudders with the pleasure of it. Her knees go slack as she struggles to open her thighs and give me better access.

I snatch my hand from her cunt and slap her left breast. "Slut! A couple of simple commands and you're soaked." I suck on my finger, savoring Mariah's salty ocean flavor. "What a kinky girl you are!" I want to sink down and bury my face in the damp thicket of her pubic hair, to eat her until she writhes and screams. Not yet, though. My Dom's sense of timing is coming back, and I know this is too soon.

Instead, I turn her around and land symmetrical slaps on each of her ass cheeks. "Into the bedroom. Now!" She scampers away like a kid.

****

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Sunday Snog #168: D&S Duos 4 (with a giveaway!)

My Sunday Snog today showcases my new release, D&S Duos Book 4. Like the earlier volumes in my series, this one celebrates the thrill of sexual power and the ecstasy of surrender. In “Like Riding a Bicycle”, after years of vanilla marriage, a couple resumes the kinky games that first drew them together. The characters in “Limbo” experience the ultimate erotic connection thanks to dangerous and addictive out-of-body technology. D&S Duos Book 4 also includes bonus story “Blind Obedience” and a transgressive excerpt from Lisabet’s erotic thriller Bangkok Noir.

The excerpt below, which begins and ends with a kiss, is from “Limbo”.

Once you’ve read my snog, I hope you’ll visit Victoria’s page and sample some of the other kisses on offer today.

Peace then, quiet, the echoes fading slowly like ripples on a pond. We're lying together on the bed, now, arms and legs entangled, totally still. I feel grief welling up in you, tinged with bitterness. I stroke your hair out of your eyes, kiss you as gently as I can.

"It's not real," you say. "It's all an illusion."

"Not real? But we're more connected than we have ever been. More perhaps, than even that first night, when you first practiced your magick on me, and I knew that I was yours."

"Gimmicks. Tricks. That's all it was, all it is. There's no real power. You're just suggestible. You always have been. You imagined it all. You're just imagining this. You're really thousands of miles away from me, doped up and dreaming. I'll never touch you again."

What could I say to wash away your anger and despair?

"You touch me always. Daily. Why else would I be here? Risking my marriage, maybe even my life, to mark your birthday? After twenty five years, how can you doubt that my love is real? You know that if you ever called me, I would come to you. That's why, out of compassion, you never have."

You're silent, considering whether this is true. We make our choices. You've made yours as much as I have mine.

I decide that I can take control of this journey as well as you. We need to lighten up. This is, after all, your birthday.

"Hey, babe, how about some candles?" You're suddenly on your back and I'm straddling you, fishing birthday candles out of thin air and igniting them with a breath from pursed lips. I hold each one briefly over your body, dripping the wax onto your skin and watching you squirm. You are cheering up already. I use the wax to stick each candle onto your skin, until your chest and belly are a glittering array of flickering flames.

I raise myself up and graze my pubic hair across your swollen cock-head. You struggle unsuccessfully to remain still. Droplets of searing paraffin rain down on your flesh. "Make a wish," I whisper. Then I sink down onto your hardness, burying you deep inside me.

The flames lick at my thighs. Your cock is a candle, lighting me from within. We are melting into one, connected at last, finally fucking, finally making love. Our bodies flow, merging, mingling. We become indistinct, clouds of light, arrows of fire, flesh evaporating in the brilliance of our joining.

I feel a pull, a heaviness. My body is calling me back. There's time for one kiss, one whisper. "I'm yours. Always."

***

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