Charity Sunday: For the after-thoughts - #AmnestyInternational #COVID-19 #CharitySunday

 

Welcome to Charity Sunday for April 2020.

I faced a dilemma, deciding what cause to support this month. The fact is, everyone is hurting – losing their jobs, their homes, their savings and their confidence in the future. Cut off from family members, friends and neighbors, and spiritual support, people are experiencing a level of uncertainty that few of us in developed countries have previously known.

Who needs help the most? Medical workers on the front lines, stretched to the limit, forced to make do with inadequate supplies? The elderly, the disabled and the chronically ill, for whom Covid-19 is likely a death sentence? Impoverished communities and people of color, living with environmental pollution that raises their risk a hundred-fold? Parents stuck at home, trying to make ends meet while keeping their children occupied and educated? The kids themselves, bored, depressed, possibly hungry, definitely scared?

Finally, I decided to focus on people nobody seems to care much about: immigrants, refugees and asylum seekers, especially those crammed into detention centers with little access to sanitation, health care, or hope. Amnesty International has an urgent action campaign to advocate for these individuals, whose situation makes them much more vulnerable than most groups. A single Covid-19 case in a crowded prison or refugee camp could wipe out thousands of people in a matter of days.

Nobody should be treated as an after-thought. And the fight for human rights never stops.

https://www.amnesty.org/en/

So this Charity Sunday, I will donate $2 to Amnesty International for each comment I receive. I usually keep my Charity Sunday offer open for a full month, but due to the urgency, this one will close on Thursday April 30^th. So please comment – and tell your friend to come do the same!

Meanwhile – as usual, I have an excerpt for you. This is a bit from “Wired”, one of the light-hearted D/s stories in my collection Hearts &Handcuffs: Romantic Kink.

I’ll give away a copy of the book to one person who leaves a comment.

The building was mostly dark when I drove into the parking lot. A motion sensor switched on an overhead light as I approached the door. I punched in my security code. A buzz, a click, and I was in the lobby. The guard's desk was unoccupied. My footsteps echoed through the dim, empty corridors.

I slipped through the fire doors that led to my group's space. The glassed-in server room was lit, plus the ceiling fluorescents above Krishna's office. The floor was carpeted in this area. I moved without a sound.

Krishna sat with back to me, focused on his screen. From where I stood, outside his cubicle, I couldn't see what he was gazing at so intently. But I could guess.

“Krishna,” I murmured.

He swiveled around, simultaneously flicking the off switch on his monitor. I could tell that the move was well-practiced.

“Liz! What are you doing here?” As I entered the cubicle, he backed the chair towards the desk, apparently trying to put more distance between us.

“I came to visit you. I thought you might be lonely.” I took another step forward. He had nowhere to go. An embarrassed grin stretched his lush lips.

His shirt was open to the middle button. A gold chain nestled in the black curls on his breast. He was breathing hard; the rise and fall of his chest made the necklace glitter. I dropped my gaze to his lap. As I expected, I found a significant bulge.

“Um―no―I'm fine―just making sure the backups are all right. I was going to leave in a few minutes...”

I brushed a fingertip across the lump in his groin. He shivered. His nervous smile evaporated.

“Don't go yet,” I crooned. “I just got here.”

I had changed out of my work clothes. I now wore a tight purple jersey with a V neck that flattered my modest breasts and a short denim skirt. I trailed a finger down my throat to my cleavage. Krishna's eyes followed in fascination. I retraced my path to my throat, the feathery touch making my nipples pebble, and removed the scarf I'd draped around my neck.

He gripped the curved arms of his desk chair, as though he were afraid he was going to faint. I slipped the scarf under the chair arm and wrapped it twice around his wrist, then tied a firm knot. He didn't move. The lavender silk was lovely against his brown skin.

“Is that too tight?” My voice was barely louder than a whisper. Krishna shook his head. His eyes were black pools of lust. I pulled a second scarf from my back pocket, this one turquoise, and secured his other arm. He trembled when I touched him.

I seated myself on his lap. His erection poked deliciously at my bottom, even through the heavy denim of my skirt. He must be huge, I thought. I'd know before long.

His beautiful face hovered inches from mine. He dropped his eyes, focusing on his bound wrist.

 

“No,” I protested, lifting his chin so that he could not look away. “Look at me, for once. I've been trying to get your attention for months. You're not getting away from me this time.”

Krishna's lips parted, as though he was about to speak. I stopped him with a fierce kiss. At first he resisted, struggling against the scarves, his lips pressed tightly together to keep me out. I braced my palms against his chest and bore down on him, prying those lips apart with my tongue.

All at once he let go. His mouth was as lush and hot as it looked, tasting of coffee and anise. I fed on him, nibbling and sucking, pouring out my long-denied lust. He opened to me, not exactly passive, but giving me control.

My bare thighs grew damp with the heat of that kiss. My nipples peaked into aching knots. His smell surrounded me, soap and sweat and the coconut oil he used on his hair. His rod prodded the crack between my legs. I burrowed deeper into his mouth, kissing him harder.

Krishna arched up, grinding himself against my ass. I broke the kiss and hopped off his lap. “Oh no you don't! Your orgasm belongs to me.”

“Please, Liz!” Krishna looked miserable and needy.

“Oh, now you're begging!” I strutted back and forth in front of him on my high-heeled boots, giving him an eyeful of my slutty outfit. “Maybe I should just leave you here, tied up and frustrated. After all, you've frustrated me for an awfully long time.”

“No, please...”

“What will Steve and Rob think when they come in tomorrow and find you tied to your chair? And when they turn on your monitor?”

I reached over his shoulder to click the switch. As I'd expected, the screen was full of kinky images, men hogtied and suspended, secured in a hundred uncomfortable positions, all with huge, hungry erections.

Krishna looked terrified. “Don't tell anyone―please don't tell! They'll deport me if they find out...”

“Your secret is safe with me.” I tangled my fingers in his opulent hair. “Provided that you cooperate, of course.”

Don’t forget to leave a comment! Every one means $2 to help immigrants and asylum seekers. And one person who comments will get a free book!

Plus - I hope you'll visit the other authors participating in today's Charity Sunday blog hop. Find out about the causes they're supporting - and leave your comment to help! 

Saturday Spanks: Routine Maintenance - #AuthorsGiveBack #FreeReading #SaturdaySpanks

I know you’ve been good all week – staying at home, taking care of business, resisting the impulse to throw caution to the winds and break out of lockdown.

Now it’s the weekend, and it’s time to get, at least vicariously, naughty!

For today’s Saturday Spanks, here’s a bit from “Routine Maintenance”, one of the stories in my Hearts & Handcuffs collection.

And in case you’ve forgotten, this book is now totally free on Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/635210

“Master? Here I am.”

Carlos whirled around. There was girl in the room, on her knees just inside the doorway. No, not a girl, a woman. Her delicate build made her seem young and vulnerable, but when Carlos looked more closely, he noted her small but well-rounded breasts and hips that swelled in an inviting way from her tiny waist.

Her head was bowed and her sun-streaked hair fell over her eyes, so he couldn't see her face. She kneeled with her thighs apart. It was clear that she was naked underneath her black miniskirt. She kept her hands clasped at the small of her back, in a position Carlos recognized from all his BDSM videos. The humble attitude of a slave.

“What—who are you?”

“I'm sorry, Master. Mistress Liza sent me to you for a spanking. She said that she was at her wit's end with me, but that you'd know how to punish me as I deserve.” The woman dared a quick look at him through her bangs. “Didn't she call you, sir?”

“I, um, I don't remember hearing anything from her.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir! Please excuse me for intruding. If you'd like me to come back at a more convenient time...”

“No, no, never mind.” Carlos' thoughts stumbled over themselves. He didn't want the girl to leave. But what was he supposed to do with her? Should he tell her that she'd made a mistake? “What did your mistress say about me?”

“Ah, well, she said that you were stronger and stricter than she is, cruel and without mercy. That you'd tan my bottom crimson and make me beg you to stop. That you'd spank me so hard that I truly wouldn't be able to bear it. That it would be a week before I could sit down.”

Carlos' cock twitched at her graphic description. She sounded suspiciously enthusiastic, not frightened the way she should be, if he really were the fearsome Dom that she took him for.

She was offering herself to him. She wanted him to spank her.

How could he turn down this opportunity?

But she was so petite. She looked so fragile. Sure, he knew the basics, but he'd never actually practiced any of the techniques that he studied every night on the Internet. What if he hurt her, really damaged her, not just spanked her butt raw that way he imagined?

“What did you do, slave, to deserve this punishment?” He tried to make himself sound gruff and severe, to disguise his own excitement. To hear the word “slave” coming from his own lips sent a hot sizzle down his spine.

“I—um—I came without the Mistress' permission. While she was paddling me.”

“I see. You're an undisciplined slut, are you?”

“Yes, sir. I couldn't help myself.”

“Well, I know how to teach you a lesson.” He only hoped that he did. He settled himself in the armchair. “Crawl to me, slave. Now.”

She was kneeling at his feet before he could count to three, once more in position, eyes on the gap between her thighs.

“Look at me,” Carlos ordered. She had violet eyes and a ripe mouth that cried out for kisses— or bruises. Her flushed cheeks and quick breathing told him that she was aroused already.

“On my lap. And no wiggling or rubbing against me. If you come while I spank you, I'll hang you up on the cross for the rest of the day.”

Holy mother, he was scaring himself! She scrambled up and flopped onto his knees. She was obviously familiar with this position as well. She parted her legs and pressed her toes against the floor to stabilize her body. Her pelvis rested on his right thigh, her chest on his left. Her arms dangled awkwardly. She didn't dare touch him without permission.

“Hands at the back of your neck. Arch your back.” The shift pressed her cushiony tits against his leg. He wished that she was naked, that they both were, so he could feel her pebbly nipples against his bare skin. But he didn't want to break the momentum by telling her to strip. Instead, he peeled her tight little skirt back towards her waist to expose her ass.

Two half-moons, pale and creamy, with a shadowed crevice between them. Perfect. Unblemished. If she was accustomed to being spanked, there was certainly no sign on those virginal buttocks. Her scent rose from the half-hidden pocket of her sex, musky and feral, much darker than he would have expected. She's a slut, Carlos thought, a pain slut who gets off on being beaten.

He raised his arm and brought his open palm down hard on that milky flesh. Her gasp sent a bolt of electricity straight to his groin.

“Nasty little whore! No underwear, and with such a short skirt.” He slapped her again. “You like pain? I'll give you real pain.”

His palm stung as he smacked her butt as hard as he could, first one cheek and then the other. Each stroke kindled a pink bloom on the woman's bottom, with rosy streaks marking the path of his fingers. Each stroke made her whimper and writhe against him. He hardened in response, unable to control his reactions.

He spanked her harder, aiming for the sensitive spot at the crease where her bottom and thighs met.

She yelped at the sudden increment in pain. “Be still! I told you, none of your tricks. If you come, believe me, I'll make you sorry.”

Carlos laid into her, doubling the speed and force of his blows. He wasn't exactly angry, but he was determined to give the girl the walloping that she deserved. She was a minx, no question. He could understand why Mistress Liza was so annoyed.

Sizzling Sunday: Hearts & Handcuffs - #ValentinesDay #BDSM #SizzlingSunday

Valentine’s Day has come and gone, but I thought I’d give you one last chance to celebrate. Today’s Sizzling Sunday features a snippet from my short story Hearts & Handcuffs. This Valentine’s-themed tale features Theo and Rachel, the main characters from my novel The Gazillionaire andthe Virgin, which I featured on Valentine’s Day proper. And I wanted to remind you that my giveaway for a free copy of that novel is still open. All you have to do is go leave a comment!

Excerpt

I pull into the parking lot at seven ten, just ten minutes late. Ten strokes of the crop, if I’m lucky and he doesn’t choose the cane instead. I feel wetness gathering between my thighs. I’m not a pain junkie, but if Theo wants to cane me, I know I won’t object.

My pulse quickens and my nipples tighten under my jacket as I stand on the landing, fumbling with my key. He hasn’t told me exactly what he has planned, just that we’ll do some role play, but by now I have a pretty good understanding of Theo’s kinky mind. I know that whatever we do, I’ll love it.

“Theo, I’m home.” My voice echoes through the modest apartment. It feels empty. But he should have been back by now. A fist of worry clenches in my chest. What if something happened to him?

“Theo?” I head down the hall towards the bedroom.

“Freeze, lady!”

Cold metal prods my ribs. I feel the chill right through my suit. An answering shiver races down my spine. A tall figure steps out from the shadows of the darkened office to my left. Rough fingers clamp down on my wrist.

“Hey! That hurts.”

“Too bad. Get used to it.” He drags me into the office and forces me down into his desk chair before snapping on the light. “It’ll hurt a lot more if you don’t tell me everything you know.”

“What?” I scan the blue-clad figure looming over me. Where did Theo get a policeman’s uniform? In any case, he looks fabulous wearing it, the trim fit accentuating his powerful chest and the tight pants showing off his muscular thighs. A silvery badge shines on his shirt pocket. Shaggy hair falls into his eyes, which are dark and intense. He has ditched his glasses—I guess he must have relented and tried the contacts I’ve urged on him, because I know he’d never try to top me without being able to see me clearly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Embezzlement. Extortion. Industrial espionage. Sound familiar?” His mouth is set in a hard line. “Gimme your hand!” In fact he grabs me without waiting for me to comply.

He pulls a glittery set of handcuffs from his back pocket. They’re obviously genuine. I try to swallow my nervousness. This is Theo, I remind myself. Your lover. Your master.

It takes him no more than a few seconds to cuff me to the chair. “Now then, missy,” he growls. “Spill. Or I’ll make you.”

“Really—officer. I have no idea what this is about. Are you sure you haven’t confused me with somebody else?”

“No way. The informant was very specific. Wild red hair and the body of a slut.”

I am as thoroughly conditioned as Pavlov’s dog. My pussy gushes whenever he uses that word.

Theo leans over to unbutton my jacket. He reaches in to claim a nipple, his fingernails biting into my taut flesh.

I gasp at the sudden pain and the burst of bliss that follows.

“I don’t think he did you justice. You’re a fucking wet dream. But never mind.” He straightens and props himself up against the desk.

“My job is to get you to talk.” He pulls a nightstick from his belt and runs his palm along the polished wood cylinder. “Whatever that takes.”

Oh my God! As he strokes his weapon, all I can think about is his cock, just as fat and hard.

Buy Links

Amazon

https://www.amazon.com/Hearts-Handcuffs-Romantic-Lisabet-Sarai-ebook/dp/B01FE2ADB4/

Smashwords

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/635210

Saturday Spanks: Spank-O-Gram -- #RomanticKink #Humor #SaturdaySpanks

Happy Saturday!

I’ve got a fun Saturday Spanks excerpt for you, from my short story collection Hearts & Handcuffs: Romantic Kink. This is from a humorous tale entitled “Spank-O-Gram”.

“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.” I noticed that her eyes were light, a grayish blue the color of Siberian ice. “Unless you vant to lean over a chair...”

“No—um—your lap is fine. But...” I marveled at my daring. “Maybe I could spank you instead?”

“No, no, that is spankee-gram! Much more expensive. Not that this service is cheap, of course. I am the best spanker on the vest coast. Your friend requested me especially. On the Internet.”

'But who...?” I began, though I had some suspicions.

“Anonymous gift.” She cut me short. “Now, get in position. Or do I have to wrestle you down? I vas Commonwealth of Independent States vomen's champion four years in a row...”

I believed her. Would she really force me to take a birthday spanking? I wasn't sure I liked the idea, but my cock did.

“You have ten seconds,” she told me. She arched one eyebrow. “If you're not ready by then, I vill leave.”

“No, no, don't leave!” Awkward and embarrassed by the lump in my shorts, I struggled to arrange myself across her lap. With my chest on the sofa and my pelvis cradled by her warm, well-muscled thighs, my knees didn't quite reach the floor.

Professional that she was, she saw my problem immediately. She tossed a pillow onto the carpet. “Here. Ve don't want any rug burn. No, only your ass should be red.” She laughed at her own pleasantry, a short bark that sent chills up my spine.

I squirmed a bit, trying to get comfortable. My cock stretched crosswise across her legs and pressed against my belly. It was sweet torture.

Slowly and deliberately, she pulled my shorts down to expose my butt. I felt myself blush like some kid. My erection throbbed, separated from her firm flesh by nothing but a layer of thin nylon. 

“Let me varn you,” she said. “I do not want your nasty gunk on my suit. If you come on me, I vill really punish you. I have a selection of canes in my car. Do you understand?”

“Yes—um, yes, ma’am,” I mumbled. The mention of the cane only made me harder. I folded my arms under my head, breathed deeply and tried to relax.

“Are you ready, Mr. Sandberg? The contract specifies fifty strokes.” She gave one of my buttocks a light squeeze, as though testing its resiliency.

“Fifty?” Could I take that much? But after all, she was just a woman...

“You can refuse,” she added, as though reading my mind. “Othervise, sign the consent form.”

Without dislodging me from her lap, she reached over to retrieve her clipboard and shoved it in my face.

I didn't bother to read the fine print. I just scrawled my signature at the bottom.

“Good. Let's begin. If you vant me to stop, you must say the vord ‘purple’. Understand?”

I just nodded. Every second she delayed made it worse—both the fear and the lust.

Her first slap landed on my right cheek. The sound of flesh on flesh drowned out the TV. My ass stung though I'd been pricked by a hundred needles. Heat flowed out from the point of contact, across my bare skin, waking every nerve.

“One. I vill count,” she added. “So you can concentrate.”

Smack! Her palm landed on my other cheek. “Two.” I reveled in the dual burn. Slam! “Three.” She aimed for the same spot as her first spank and I felt the difference, a throbbing ache under the raw sting. “Four.” I groaned as she returned to my left. “Five. Six.” The balance between pleasure and pain shifted from second to second. “Seven. Eight. Nine.” When she made contact, my ass screamed in protest. Then trails of delicious fire skittered away from the spot she'd hit. I twisted and writhed, trying to get away from her inexorable hand, succeeding only in amplifying the sensations.

My cock rubbed against the slippery nylon, so swollen I was sure I'd burst any second.

“Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.” She was as regular as a metronome. I knew exactly when she'd strike. That did not make it any easier to bear. She picked up the tempo as she reached twenty, and also increased the force. Maybe she thought I was getting used to it. Fat chance. I gasped and groaned, my butt pulsing with heat under her skilled palm.

“Twenty nine. Thirty.” She paused. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I discovered that I was shaking.

She peered down into my face. “Do you vant me to stop? Your ass is red as the flag on Lenin's tomb.”

“Um—no, no ... go on. The full fifty...”

“One moment. My hand is getting sore.” I felt her shift underneath me, then I caught the rich smell of tanned leather. My cock leaped. “Good think I brought my gloves. Twenty one!”

Now on sale! Hearts & Handcuffs: Romantic Kink - #BDSM #Romance #HalfPrice

 

Today I’m showcasing my short story collection Hearts & Handcuffs: Romantic Kink. Like all my indie-published books, it’s half off at Smashwords this month.

http://bit.ly/RomanticKink

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.

Open the cover, dive into Lisabet Sarai’s imagination—the ultimate aphrodisiac—and savor these gems of romantic kink.

From Hearts & Handcuffs

I pull into the parking lot at seven ten, just ten minutes late. Ten strokes of the crop, if I’m lucky and he doesn’t choose the cane instead. I feel wetness gathering between my thighs. I’m not a pain junkie, but if Theo wants to cane me, I know I won’t object.

My pulse quickens and my nipples tighten under my jacket as I stand on the landing, fumbling with my key. He hasn’t told me exactly what he has planned, just that we’ll do some role play, but by now I have a pretty good understanding of Theo’s kinky mind. I know that whatever we do, I’ll love it.

“Theo, I’m home.” My voice echoes through the modest apartment. It feels empty. But he should have been back by now. A fist of worry clenches in my chest. What if something happened to him? 

 

“Theo?” I head down the hall towards the bedroom.

“Freeze, lady!”

Cold metal prods my ribs. I feel the chill right through my suit. An answering shiver races down my spine. A tall figure steps out from the shadows of the darkened office to my left. Rough fingers clamp down on my wrist.

“Hey! That hurts.”

“Too bad. Get used to it.” He drags me into the office and forces me down into his desk chair before snapping on the light. “It’ll hurt a lot more if you don’t tell me everything you know.”

“What?” I scan the blue-clad figure looming over me. Where did Theo get a policeman’s uniform? In any case, he looks fabulous wearing it, the trim fit accentuating his powerful chest and the tight pants showing off his muscular thighs. A silvery badge shines on his shirt pocket. Shaggy hair falls into his eyes, which are dark and intense. He has ditched his glasses—I guess he must have relented and tried the contacts I’ve urged on him, because I know he’d never try to top me without being able to see me clearly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Embezzlement. Extortion. Industrial espionage. Sound familiar?” His mouth is set in a hard line. “Gimme your hand!” In fact he grabs me without waiting for me to comply.

He pulls a glittery set of handcuffs from his back pocket. They’re obviously genuine. I try to swallow my nervousness. This is Theo, I remind myself. Your lover. Your master.

It takes him no more than a few seconds to cuff me to the chair. “Now then, missy,” he growls. “Spill. Or I’ll make you.”

“Really—officer. I have no idea what this is about. Are you sure you haven’t confused me with somebody else?”

“No way. The informant was very specific. Wild red hair and the body of a slut.”

I am as thoroughly conditioned as Pavlov’s dog. My pussy gushes whenever he uses that word.

Theo leans over to unbutton my jacket. He reaches in to claim a nipple, his fingernails biting into my taut flesh.

I gasp at the sudden pain and the burst of bliss that follows.

“I don’t think he did you justice. You’re a fucking wet dream. But never mind.” He straightens and props himself up against the desk.

“My job is to get you to talk.” He pulls a nightstick from his belt and runs his palm along the polished wood cylinder. “Whatever that takes.”

This story features Rachel and Theo, the main characters from my erotic romance novel, The Gazillionaire and the Virgin. That book is also 50% off at Smashwords!

http://bit.ly/HalfPriceRomance

Get your copy today!

Birthday Gifts for YOU – #Birthday #Giveaway #RomanticKink

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:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/635210

Put the book into your cart, then use this coupon code when you check out:

PA97M

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!

Smut Sunday - Contest! (#freebook #bdsm #smutsunday)

Have you been following my story, Thieves’ Honor, through last week? Because today, I’m giving you a quiz!

Answer the three questions below in a comment. I’ll randomly draw two winners from among the people who get the answers right. Each one will receive a $5 bookstore gift certificate plus a copy of my romantic kink collection Hearts & Handcuffs!

You can also leave a comment on yesterday’s post, telling me what you thought of the story, and I’ll consider that another contest entry.

Here are the questions:

1. What is Blaine’s real name?

2. Where does Avram live?

3. What country does Avram come from?

Be sure to include your email address along with your answers!

Where's the smut, you might ask? Obviously you didn't read the story! For more deliciously sexy stuff, visit Smut Sunday Central!

 

Valentine's Sunday Snog - Free book and contest! (#valentines #kink #freebook)

I’m celebrating Valentine’s Day a bit early, with a sexy snippet from my Valentine’s kink collection, Hearts & Handcuffs. This bit is from “Domestic Goddess”, which features a committed couple in a D/s relationship. When her Master slips into depression after losing his job, Elizabeth tries drastic measures, both to punish him for his neglect and to wake up his libido.

For the next week, as my Valentine’s gift to you, this book is entirely free from Smashwords. Just go to this link:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/635210

click to “purchase” the book, and enter this coupon code on checkout.

MP45K

If you use a Kindle, download the .mobi format of the book. PDF, epub and several other formats are also available.

Plus... I’ll give away a $5 bookstore gift certificate to one person who leaves a comment on this post!

For more sexy Sunday kisses—including a very naughty excerpt from Victoria Blisse herself—click over to Sunday Snog Central!

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Time expanded. Tireless, full of power, she lashed at him again and again, her pussy weeping in sympathy with his agony and his lust. The only sounds were the whoosh of the rattan as it sang through the air and the thwack as it landed, oh so painfully, on his poor punished ass.

All at once, she heard something else. The sound of him sobbing. She stopped immediately, turned his head to the side so that she could see his tear-stained face. “Enough?” she murmured.

Slowly, reluctantly, he nodded.

“Say it then. Tell me your safeword.”

“Goddess,” he whispered, closing his eye in shame and relief.

“That’s a good slave,” she said, tossing the carpet beater away. “Want another chance to make me come?”

His face brightened.

“Get up, then. On your knees, facing the chair.”

He was surprisingly agile for such a big man. She seated myself on the upholstered seat and draped her legs over the arms. Her cunt was spread wide before him. He licked his lips, and the ghost of a smile crossed his face. She didn't have the heart to be stern.

“Do it, slave.”

Oh, if he was good before, now he was marvelous! His mouth was a machine with a thousand different speeds and settings. Delicate and slow, rough and fast, circling and probing, nipping and thrusting.

I should have made him submit months ago, she mused, her mind fogged with lust. He had always liked to eat pussy, but she'd never been so thoroughly, so blissfully serviced.

She let herself go, dropped her dominant persona and allowed herself writhe and groan under the assault of his lips and tongue. “Harder,” she begged, teetering on the edge. “Deeper, more, oh please, more...”

It was the 'please', she supposed later, that shifted things. An admission of weakness, of ungovernable desire. In an instant, he was off his knees, between her legs, his swollen cock already half inside her.

“No,” she cried, trying to regain the advantage. “I didn't give you permission—” He stopped her protests by fastening his sticky mouth on hers, as he slid into her and took her over.

Don’t forget to leave a comment, with your email address, to enter the GC drawing!