Smut Sunday: The Antidote (#smutsunday #sciencefiction #orgy)

As I sat down to create a post for this Smut Sunday, I asked myself, what is the smuttiest book I’ve written? There are quite a few candidates. However, one that’s way up there in the ranking is my sci fi short story, The Antidote.

The initial motivation for this book was my frustration with writing erotic romance. I’d been getting a lot of push back from my editors, who seemed to think my writing was too raw for romance readers. Being the accommodating sort, and wanting to get my books out there, I mostly acquiesced to their suggestions. However, I was getting tired of pulling my erotic punches (which is what I felt I had to do in romance).

I want to write something really smutty, I thought to myself. As an antidote to all this nice romance stuff.

All at once I had a title. And in nothing flat, I had a story, one that definitely does not sugar-coat the sex or moderate the heat.

Just the right thing for Smut Sunday!

When you’re finished with my offering, head back to Victoria’s SmutSunday home page, for more smutty goodness!

What if the government stole your libido? What would you do to get it back?

Sixty years after the Plague, few remember the mass deaths, the riots and the massacres triggered by the sexually-transmitted disease. Still, most people accept the Council’s mysterious libido-suppression technology as necessary to prevent a resurgence of the deadly virus. Monthly procreative sex, government-supported and hormone-enhanced, is enough to satisfy them.

Lena’s different. Though she loves her husband Jeff, she yearns to experience the thrill of forbidden lust, to know what it feels like to couple with a stranger. Rumors speak of an antidote that liberates the libido from the Council’s thrall. Denied from birth, Lena is willing to risk everything—her marriage, her freedom, even her life—for one taste of unbridled desire.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Club Lust. Tonight we have a special treat, a newcomer enjoying her first taste of freedom.” He gripped the bottom of my jersey and pulled it over my head in one deft motion.

All eyes in the room turned to my suddenly bare chest. The heat of their attention brought a flush to my cheeks. My nipples contracted into throbbing bullets of needy flesh. Bolt pinched and twisted them, far rougher than Jeff had ever been. Liquid gushed from my cunt as though he’d turned on a faucet.

“Such fine, round, bouncy tits. Just looking at them makes me want to rub my cock in between them until I come all over her face. Don’t you all agree?” The crowd murmured its assent. I don’t know what excited me more, his words or the fact that simultaneously, he’d unzipped my skirt and pulled it down to my ankles. Underneath I wore the red bikini briefs that had come with our last booster pack. They were soaked.

Bolt’s hand dropped from my breast to cup my pubis. I shivered. My cunt clenched at the indirect stimulation as he brushed his palm over the wiry hair underneath the pseudo-silk. My clit swelled, hot, demanding. I arched my pelvis, pressing my sex more firmly against his hand. He wriggled a finger between my lips, pressing the fabric into my cleft. Pleasure shimmered through my whole body. Earlobes, lips, fingertips, nipples, clit, toes, all throbbed in time. I heard myself moan.

“Our little slut is very wet,” Bolt gloated. “I think she wants to be fucked. Let’s get a look at her cunt.”

I heard a click beside my ear, then felt cold steel against my thigh. Fear flickered through me, almost indistinguishable from lust. Fresh blood, he’d said. But his blade sliced only through my panties, first at one hip, then the other. Still behind me, he pulled the saturated fabric out from between my thighs. The friction and the knowledge that I was being watched combined to pull me into the whirlpool of a minor climax. I slumped in Bolt’s grasp, twitching helplessly. The audience responded with enthusiastic applause.

I was still shuddering when Bolt pushed me onto the mattress, face down, butt in the air. “Spread your legs, baby. Show them all your hot, pink twat. Let them see your tight asshole. Tonight we’re going to fill you up, kitten.”

I obeyed, overwhelmed with shame and yet eager to display my slick lips and hungry holes. The embarrassment made me all the more excited. I wiggled my ass, trying to attract Bolt’s attention. 
 

The watchers clapped in delight. Bolt landed a stinging slap on one butt cheek. Heat streaked through me, nearly triggering another come. He spanked me again. My cunt clenched, empty, ravenous.

“You need a cock, don’t you? At least one. Well, here you go.” A fat rod of flesh appeared in front of my face. “Suck this, slut.”

I needed no further invitation. I couldn’t wait to taste him. Bolt’s cock was as monstrous as the rest of him, far larger than Jeff’s, but I swallowed him whole. I ran my lips up and down his length, pressing my tongue firmly against his bulb at the apex of each stroke.

He tasted funky, as though he hadn’t showered in a while, and a bit bitter. In my aroused state, I found him delicious. The mattress smelled of mold, though the sheet seemed clean. It didn’t matter.

My clit burned. My thighs felt sticky. My cunt drooled onto the makeshift bed. My nipples ground against the rough cotton. All my senses were heightened, but they were sending only positive messages.

He swelled and jerked in my mouth and I eased off. I wanted him to come in my cunt, or spurt all over my back. So that everyone could see.

Buy Links

Amazon US - http://www.amazon.com/dp/B013ZS2678

Amazon UK - http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B013ZS2678

Smashwords - https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/569511

Barnes and Noble - https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-antidote-lisabet-sarai/1122682231?ean=2940152362305

The Creative Power of Opposition (#creativity #amwriting #lgbtq)

In the past few years, I’ve discovered a surprisingly effective method for kick-starting my imagination: look at what I’ve been doing, then do the opposite. Some of my best stories have grown out of frustration, a feeling that I’d gotten stuck writing the same sort of tales over and over.

For instance, I wrote The Antidote as a reaction to a long spell penning nothing but erotic romance. I was tired of toning down my language and keeping a tight rein on my characters’ sexual attractions and activities, so that they only lusted after the person involved in their happy endings. “I need an antidote to all this romance stuff,” I told myself, then realized I had a great title. The story unfolds in a near-future in which an authoritarian government suppresses sexual desire in the interests of public order – but where a highly illegal antidote is available, for those willing to take the risk.

My multi-genre novel Rajasthani Moon began as a reaction to the current tendency to slot every story into a well-defined sub-genre. “Let’s see how many different genres I can include in a single book,” I thought. The resulting mash-up has elements of steampunk, suspense, shapeshifter, ménage, BDSM, Bollywood (a sub-genre only Totally Bound seems to recognize) and Rubenesque genres. Personally, I feel it’s one of my most successful works, at least from an entertainment perspective. As one reviewer wrote: “At first you have a kidnapping fantasy with rip roaring sex that honestly left me breathless. Then you have a ménage with kinky toys that made me crunch ice. ( A lot). Then you add a paranormal twist and I couldn’t decide what I enjoyed more. It all worked. Every part of it.”

My lesbian novella The Witches ofGloucester likewise started in a search for contrast. I was putting together a volume of my lesbian erotic short stories to submit to LadyLit. In the process, I noticed a lot of similarities among the tales. All but one were realistic stories with contemporary settings. Every one revolved around just two women, and most of the stories chronicled the characters’ first sexual encounter. I thought I needed something different, for balance. A paranormal fantasy, perhaps. And maybe I could work in a three-way lesbian ménage, perhaps with some moderately hard-core activities. Furthermore, perhaps I could create some characters who were lovers with a long history, women who knew one another extremely well.

I started writing about Marguerite and Beryl, the two resident witches of Gloucester, Massachusetts, and found I couldn’t stop. The floodgates opened. At the outset, I expected the tale to be in the 4-5K region. It turned out to be more than 12,000 words.

When I submitted the manuscript for the collection to LadyLit, they recommended that we pull out Witches and publish it as a standalone title. Of course, I’m happy to have two books rather than just one...but now I’m back in the situation of thinking the collection (entitled Her Own Devices) might not have sufficient variety!

Anyway, here’s the blurb for The Witches of Gloucester — a perfect summer read! You’ll find a full list of links at http://www.ladylit.com/books/the-witches-of-gloucester-by-lisabet-sarai/ and excerpts here on the blog and on my website.

It’s not about power. It’s about love.

The historic port of Gloucester, Massachusetts has a special charm, due at least in part to its resident witches. For decades, raven-maned Marguerite and red-headed Beryl have lived among its hard-working inhabitants, making magic and mischief. Love and sex fuel their supernatural abilities, but duality limits their power. To reach their full potential, they need a third witch to complete their circle.

Rejected as a nymphomaniac by her puritanical boyfriend, Emmeline escapes to Gloucester to work on her PhD thesis. From the moment she arrives, Marguerite and Beryl sense her erotic vitality and unrecognized paranormal talent. The platinum-haired beauty may well be the enchantress they have been awaiting for so long. Now they need to show Em that her prodigious libido is a gift, not a liability, and to persuade her that her destiny lies in the sea-girt town they guard, and in their arms.

Lucky 13! (#freebook #romance #friday)

So today is Friday the 13th. Supposed to be bad luck, right? Not so!

In fact today is your lucky day! Today I am giving away a free book to every single person who leaves a comment with his or her email address.

You get your choice of Coming in Costume (BDSM menage erotic romance) or The Antidote (science fiction erotica). In your comment, just tell me which one you want!

See what I mean? Isn't it lucky you decided to visit the blog today?

Sunday Snog #192: The Antidote

My snog excerpt today is from my most recent release, The Antidote, a bit of speculative erotica with a lot of heat and a bit of a message. Hope you enjoy it!

When you’re done reading my kiss snippet, head back to Victoria’s for more sexy Sunday Snogs.

What if the government stole your libido? What would you do to get it back?

Sixty years after the Plague, most people accept the Council’s mysterious libido-suppression technology as necessary to prevent a resurgence of the deadly virus. Lena’s different. Though she loves her husband Jeff, she yearns to experience the thrill of forbidden lust. Denied from birth, Lena is willing to risk everything—her marriage, her freedom, even her life—for one taste of unbridled desire.

****

“You bastard!”

“Lena, please...”

I sat up in our bed, pushing away the hand that tried to stroke my hair.

“What about me? What about the rest of us? What about Bolt? And that poor woman who was with me? What about her? What will happen to her?”

“That’s not my responsibility.”

“The hell it’s not! You pretend to be Mr. Morality-and-Social-Conscience, all cozy with the Council, but do you care what you’re doing? What you’re supporting? All you want is to get your rocks off.”

“That’s what you wanted.”

“Yes, but I have no power to change anything. You’ve got connections, or so you say. Maybe it’s time for a change. The plague is long gone. Maybe it’s time the Council let us make our own decisions again, about who we fuck, and how.”

“Maybe you’re right. But the Council won’t willingly give up the policy of lust-suppression. It makes us all so easy to control.”

He caressed my cheek, then allowed his hand to drop to my breast. Dimly, I felt something stir in my crotch. “Seriously, hon, there’s nothing that I can do.”

“You can get hold of the antidote, right? For free?”

“Well, for favors. But yes, I can get it. Several of my project sites are at the drug factories.”

“Let’s start giving it away.”

“Giving away the antidote? To whom?”

“Anyone who wants it.” I thought about Merle. She’d take some. She’d pass it on.

“The Council...the Inspectors...”

“They can’t arrest us all. They need us.” I leaned forward and kissed him, trying to summon a hint of the passion I’d experienced earlier. Something flickered through me, a pale shadow of the lust I knew I was capable of. It was a tiny spark, but real. I thrust my tongue deep into his mouth, concentrating on that spark. Trying to fan it into flame.

Jeff returned my enthusiasm. The rich scent of his sweat tickled my nostrils, overwhelming his after shave. I broke the kiss, searching his face. “Did you take it again? The antidote?”

“I managed to persuade the Inspectors not to inject me with the suppressors.”

“Do you have any?” I wanted to feel it again—the rush of desire overwhelming every other emotion.

New Release! Transgressive Science Fiction Erotica

I’ve just self-published a new story entitled The Antidote. This is not erotic romance, though it has a HFN ending. But if you enjoy steaming hot, transgressive sex, along with a serious message, you might want to check it out.

What if the government stole your libido? What would you do to get it back?

Sixty years after the Plague, few remember the mass deaths, the riots and the massacres triggered by the sexually-transmitted disease. Still, most people accept the Council’s mysterious libido-suppression technology as necessary to prevent a resurgence of the deadly virus. Monthly procreative sex, government-supported and hormone-enhanced, is enough to satisfy them.

Lena’s different. Though she loves her husband Jeff, she yearns to experience the thrill of forbidden lust, to know what it feels like to couple with a stranger. Rumors speak of an antidote that liberates the libido from the Council’s thrall. Denied from birth, Lena is willing to risk everything—her marriage, her freedom, even her life—for one taste of unbridled desire.

Buy Links

Amazon US - http://www.amazon.com/dp/B013ZS2678

Amazon UK - http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B013ZS2678

Smashwords - https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/569511

Coming soon to Kobo, iTunes and Barnes and Noble.

Here’s an exclusive excerpt, not available anywhere else. Warning: it’s definitely rated X.

“Like it? Do you like my cock? Do you, baby?” He punctuated each question with a fierce thrust.

I couldn’t answer. I could only moan as he rammed me, again and again. I heard moans from the audience, too, evidence that the show was turning them on. Another climax gathered on the horizon of my consciousness.

A picture of Jeff swam into my mind. Handsome, kind, responsible Jeff, the model husband. The model citizen. He’d never approve. He’d be shocked, maybe disgusted. I pushed away the guilt that threatened to dampen my pleasure. How could I have been satisfied with him? He worked closely with the Council, helping them implement their policies for the good of society. Whereas I was an outlaw, a horny cunt who got off being watched while strangers fucked her.

Bolt suddenly pulled his rod out of me. I clenched around his vanishing bulk. “I’m going to come all over you. To show everyone what a filthy slut you are.”

The audience roared. His spunk showered down on me, a bitter, sticky rain. He smacked his cock against my butt, scattering the last drops of semen over my back. At the same time, he reached forward between my legs and squeezed my clit.

My body dissolved in a sea of mindless pleasure. I’d never known anything like this, not in the most ecstatic, intimate coupling with my husband. A thousand sensations flooded through me, washing away every thought. I was nothing but a whirling, trembling mass of flesh, tossed on currents of dark delight.

Dystopic sci fi with a searing edge...Get your copy today.

Word Girl

I was talking to an author friend recently, and he mentioned that almost all his inspirations came in visual form. "Image is how I write," he told me. "I begin with a compelling image and try to explain it to myself. It’s the seed from which a story sprouts."

I gather this is the case for quite a few writers. Certainly, I read lots of blogs discussing how authors use movie or television stars as the models for their characters. Several of my favorite authors have commented commented that they tend to base her heroes on their latest "crush".

I'm not like this at all. With one exception, I've never started a story with a clear visualization of the hero in mind. By the time I'm well into a book, I do have mental pictures of my characters and the setting, but for me, the words come first.

Several of my favorite stories had their germ in the words of a title. I'd been writing rather "heavy", emotionally intense erotica, and I thought to myself, "I really need to write something lighter, something sexy and a bit frothy, just for fun. A real crowd pleaser." In a flash, I had the title, and then the basic premise, of my short story Crowd Pleaser, which you can find in the free reading section of my website.

The Antidote started the same way. In this case I'd been writing a lot of romance, and I had the urge to create a story to counter-balance the monogamous, happily-ever-after work I'd been producing. I wanted to write a really filthy tale about sex for the sake of sex - an antidote to too much love. All at once, I knew the story I would write, about a world in which the government has biologically suppressed sexual desire and in which underground sex clubs dispense the drug to undo those effects.

Yes, I'm definitely a word girl. Hey, two of my books feature Scrabble games! My upcoming release Hot Spell got its start as a title. The plot and characters flowed from the name.

The only story I've penned that was inspired by an image is Wild About That Thing, due out from Total-E-Bound in September. I was in a blues club one night when my attention was snagged by a member of the audience. He was a slender but muscular black man with a shaved head and gold-wire-framed glasses. His handsome face was compelling by itself, but what really grabbed me was his attitude of total focus on the music. I really couldn't help but stare at him. And of course he didn't notice at all. Every bit of his attention was trained on the stage. I tried to memorize his features, knowing that I wanted him as a character in some future work.

The man who fascinated me that night formed the model for Remy in my tale, which just happens to be set in a blues bar. That thrilling experience was the exception, though. Normally, it's words that fire my imagination, not pictures. I guess that makes me weird. But I'm used to that.