By Cari Silverwood (Guest Blogger)
Otherwise known as:
Whoops, I think the dog’s on the front porch gnawing on the butt plug. And Mrs. Whittacker’s come to visit. And now she’s playing tug-o-war with Rover. No, it’s not the weeny pink one, it’s the big black rhino-size butt plug. That vibrates.
I’m writing this because I had a reviewer recently say to me that although she enjoyed my story, she liked my bio even more. Her husband is a Star Wars aficionado (yes, I like that word because it’s sophisticated and French though I always have to get out my dictionary to spell it), also known as a Star Wars geek. The end of my Bio:
And, dammit, I can’t seem to stop reading other erotica authors either. I have come over to the dark side. Someone please find me a candle...and some rope. 'Cause if Darth Vader's here, I'm going to see if he's up for some bondage and wax play.
After she showed it to him, he said, “That is SO wrong,” then walked away with an amused smirk on his face. When she told me I should consider writing humor I automatically thought she meant erotica plus humor, she didn’t but it set the ball rolling in my head. I have a lot of space up here so it’s still rolling.
In real life funny stuff happens. A friend was merrily paddling his wife’s behind when their cat walked up, gave him the evil eye, and bit him on the leg. Another couple had the cat leap on the husband’s dangly bits while they were doing it doggy style. Perhaps understandable -- he should have been doing it pussy cat style. Vibrators have been known to be used as pretend torches by the kids in front of the relatives.
Seriously, adding humor to any story tends to round out the people and make them more real -- always a good result. How many real people never laugh? Sure humor’s not likely in the middle of an action scene where the villain is being shot or the world is being saved but elsewhere I think it can be wonderful. The point here being that BDSM scenes are akin to action scenes and throwing in humor knocks everything out of focus.
There’s a whole swathe of humor out there covering things the submissive could say or do to the Dom -- like putting super glue on the handle of the flogger. J
But if the submissive says something smart-ass to the Dom or does something silly and you still want sex in there soon, the Dom is rather likely to do something creatively evil and sex-orientated. Does this make the humor die a premature death? Perhaps. I’m not sure myself and may have to try writing it in to be certain.
Right now though, when I write D/s scenes I like there to be tension and conflict. Throwing humor into the mix seems to spoil the whole vibe. I love making the woman unsure of what’s going down (no naughty pun intended). I love doing a bit of a mind fuck. But then I’m an evil author.
If I put humor into a story, I think for these reasons, I’m far more likely to use it outside the sex scenes and the BDSM scenes but since that’s still a large part of a story, there should be plenty of opportunity. So I’m marking this idea down as a plot bunny for the future. Soon I shall need a rabbit hutch up here. There’re a lot of bunnies bouncing around in my head, along with that big rolling ball.
So anyway - speaking of BDSM - here's a definitely non-humorous excerpt from my book Iron Dominance. Oh, and I'm giving away a copy of the book to one lucky person who leaves a comment!
Stay there,” he said.
She could smell him.
She almost opened her eyes to say something, but instead balanced there. Why she obeyed him, she wasn’t sure but it satisfied something primal, something deeply sexual. And letting go like this, made her feel safe.
Anticipation strung her insides tight. She yearned for further caresses. Her cleft swelled.
“Here. Raise your feet.” An article of clothing, both silken cloth and something harder, slid with muffled clicks up each leg. Theo arranged it about her torso, cool beads shifting across her breasts until the garment fitted snugly on her body. Something narrow settled between her legs. She gasped at a throb of pleasure as his fingers played in her moisture. A few more adjustments and he led her off to one side. A light flared on. “There. Open your eyes.”
In a tall mirror, she saw herself, dressed in a black corset paneled with satin. Coming down from a halter, pearl ropes fanned out over each breast with her nipples peeking out between. A tiny skirt of chiffon, divided at the crotch, barely made it as far as her upper thighs. Lines of seed pearls undulated down the satin and a string of larger pearls dove deeply between her legs, emphasizing the split lips of her sex. She could feel it run up between the cheeks of her bottom at the back. Even as she looked, she felt a renewed throb, for every movement she made, from breath to heartbeat to shift of feet, moved the line of pearls and rubbed against her clit.
In the reflection, she saw Theo beyond her shoulder, bare-chested, the ringlets of his black hair stark against his forehead. He raised a satin and pearl choker and positioned it about her neck, clicking it into place. “And these,” he said, holding first one wrist and then the other to snick matching black satin bracelets on her wrists. “They suit you.” From the hardness, metal lurked beneath the black cloth.
Where the choker and bracelets rested on skin, her pulse rose, thumping, to the surface and reminded her of where she was, who she was with, and especially, how dangerous this could be. But…she trusted him.
To her surprise, her throat still worked, though the words seemed to stick to her tongue. “How did you know my size? Where did this come from?”
“Bought while I was away. I have a good memory, especially for someone as striking as you.”
Which meant, he’d planned her…seduction, while she’d been planning escape. She leaned back against him, fascinated by the allure of the woman in the mirror. The heat from his body soaked into her like a glass of wine. She lifted each wrist and examined the bracelets -- identical, and each with tiny loops of steel projecting from them.
“That’s for a chain to pass through,” he whispered, mouthing the nape of her neck. “Does it bother you? Think, before you answer.”
“Yes…” she said slowly, fearful of being again restrained in cuffs.
“And yet?” He pressed a hand against her stomach, holding her against him, making her feel the rigid line of his cock. The pearls slid in her juices, pressing, rolling over her clit and anus. She let out a whimper. “Ahh. You feel them working on you.” He chuckled. “And yet?”
And yet the idea of it, of being restrained by Theo, held a strange and deadly fascination. She shied away from that thought, and shook her head. “And nothing.”
“Ah-h. I can see my first project will be to get you talking more.”
She stood there in silence. The fear she felt came intertwined with lust in almost everything that Theo did to her. Taking her by the shoulders, he moved her to face him, gray eyes inches away, then his mouth descended, covering hers, devouring her. She breathed in his breath, letting him do as he willed. One broad hand held the base of her neck, the other splayed over the curve of her buttocks. His fingers wrapped around the pearl rope running between her legs, tightening it. Desire ran rampant through her, surging higher with every tiny movement of his lips on hers, and the rub of the pearls on her pussy and nipples.
When she put her hands to the belt of his pants, he reached between their bodies, snared both her wrists and pulled them round to the small of her back where he held them with one hand. Again, the pearls shifted. She bit her lip, a moan escaping her as she arched.
Eyes shut, she heard a soft animal-like growl.
“Claire, if you’re not damn careful, I’ll eat you up.”
What? She opened her eyes a slit, still panting, to see that he’d stepped away a little, angling his stance so as to observe her.
His gaze brushed her, lingering on her breasts before he locked on her eyes. “Last chance. Do you want to stop? Are you too sore? It might cause me irreparable harm, but I can stop.” Then he eyed her darkly, as if he’d liked to do exactly what he’d threatened to -- eat her up.
The pain of the bruise at her neck had faded to nothing in spite of the choker. With her whole being, she yearned for more of him. He inflamed her past bearing and knowing that he watched her, swept her excitement to another level.
She licked her lips, aware of her wrists still caught behind her and the display of her body. God, if he didn’t do more than this, she’d surely burst.
“No,” she said huskily. “Don’t stop.”
“Please?”
Ah, how he tormented her. “Please.”
“Over here then.” Still gripping her wrists he urged her toward the bed, to kneel by the side of it, and lie face down across the quilt with her bottom up. He spread her hands, palm down over each cheek of her buttocks.
“Don’t move,” he whispered in her ear. “And I won’t have to tie you.”
Tie me? She almost let go at that. Was this what she wanted? But he held his hands over hers a moment. She stayed there.
“Good.”
His fingers trailed over the backs of her hands, over the ends of her fingernails, and down her thighs. She quivered, sucking in air through the quilt bunched beneath her mouth.
“Spread your legs, Claire.”
She shifted them, feeling even more exposed, a breeze caressing her engorged labia. He traced down the line of pearls, reached her wet cleft and followed deeper where the pearls seemed to have sunk into her flesh. Slick and wet. The scent of her lust reached her. Slowly he went farther until he reached her clit. He circled it, teasing, making her shift her bottom to place the finger just right.
About Me: Though I’d much rather stay invisible and spin you all tales with my words, here’s a little snippet of my world.
I have a lovely family, with the prerequisite teenager who dwells in the dark bedroom catacombs…a husband who raises eyebrows when he catches glimpses of what I write, and a furry menagerie of other animals barking meowing, and swimming about the place.
Before writing the novel Three Days of Dominance, I had never dipped my little toes in the hot and lust-swirled sea of erotica. Now every time I turn around there’s someone begging me to write down their story in the most lurid way. I’m sure I don’t where my people learnt their morals. They’re quite adamant about teaching me creative new ways of making love. So I doubt I’ll run out of ideas anytime soon.
And, dammit, I can’t seem to stop reading other erotica authors either. I have come over to the dark side. Someone please find me a candle...and some rope. 'Cause if Darth Vader's here, I'm going to see if he's up for some bondage and wax play.
My website, if you’re curious about my other evil pursuits: http://www.carisilverwood.net/
