Let me show you who you really are... #MFRWHooks #MFRWAuthor #BDSM #Romance

It has been ages since I participated in Book Hooks. I wanted to give my readers a really romantic snippet, so I’ve chosen a bit from near the end of my BDSM erotic romance The Heart of the Deal.

I find it desperately romantic, at least ... ;^)

Enjoy!

Blurb

All's fair in lust and business

Ruby Maxwell Chen, the lovely and ruthless CEO of a sprawling British business empire, has no qualms about playing dirty – very dirty. She’s happy to use sex to help her close a deal, especially when she’s the one on top. Ruby loves the game, and she expects to win. When she encounters the inexplicably charismatic American entrepreneur Rick Martell, though, she wonders if she hasn't finally met her match.

From the trendy clubs of London to the Hollywood Hills, Ruby and Rick compete for ownership of a strategic factory in Malaysia. As their struggle for dominance escalates and their mutual lust flares, they draw their employees and associates into their outrageous power games. The stakes could scarcely be higher, as Ruby and Rick play for the ultimate prize: a night of total physical surrender.

The Hook

It’s a glorious day. The sun is hotter and closer than it ever is in England. There’s a smart breeze that whips my hair around my face and leaves me strangely breathless. Like champagne, Rick had said, and I can feel it, tingling bubbles bursting in my chest, singing through my veins.

We don’t speak. There is no need, and in any case, the wind would carry our words away. There is the splash of the waves against our bow, the wailing of gulls, the snap of the canvas as the wind shifts directions. Catalina Island is a low-lying shadow on the horizon ahead. The coast has disappeared behind us, though a yellowish band of smog marks its presence.

Rick and I are alone in the middle of the sea. I feel strangely relaxed, though the lust that he always inspires is humming in my limbs. I steal another glance at him, tanned, confident, in control. It’s difficult to reconcile this with my memories of him squirming beneath me as I reamed his poor virgin arsehole.

He must feel the weight of my gaze, for he looks up at me and our eyes lock. He grins that annoying, delightful grin of his, full of arrogance and mischief. Fearful anticipation shivers up my spine.

He hooks a loop of rope over the tiller. “I thought perhaps we might stop here for a while,” he says softly. Before I completely digest his intentions, he has lowered and secured the sails. The Stella Maris drifts, rocking gently in the swells. I am suddenly afraid, realizing that I am isolated and alone with this man who is, as I know very well, dangerous. A taker of risks. Looking around us, I see other sails, but they are too distant to call to, too far away to see anything other than the pennants on our masts.

“Now, Ruby,” he whispers as he takes me in his arms, “you are at my mercy.”

Despite his words his kiss is gentle, almost worshipful. When he touches me I comprehend how badly I have been longing for this. I melt into him, open myself to his tongue and his fingers, which find their way unerringly to the aching chasm between my thighs. Yes, please, I beg silently, grinding myself down on his invading hand. He slides the other hand under my tank top and gives my nipple a harsh twist, muffling my cries with his mouth.

Everything is heat and wetness; the sun, my sex, his lips at the hollow of my throat, his tongue teasing my earlobe. His breath is hot in my ear.

“Let me take you, Ruby. Let me bind you. Let go, for once, fully and completely, and allow me to show you who you really are, who you can be.”

Buy Links

Kinky Literature

https://www.kinkyliterature.com/book/6188-the-heart-of-the-deal-business-bondage-discipline-and-desire/

Amazon US

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07SJY8PTC

Amazon UK

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07SJY8PTC

Smashwords

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/942426

Barnes and Noble

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-heart-of-the-deal-lisabet-sarai/1131920310?ean=2940163239221

Kobo

https://www.kobo.com/th/en/ebook/the-heart-of-the-deal-business-bondage-discipline-and-desire

Add on Goodreads

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/46258845-the-heart-of-the-deal

Be sure to visit the other authors participating in today’s Book Hooks blog hop!

Saturday Spanks: The Heart of the Deal - #BDSM #femdom #SaturdaySpanks

Today’s Saturday Spanks comes from The Heart of the Deal. It doesn’t include an actual spanking – but I guarantee that the promise is just as hot. Especially if you like femdom!

Enjoy!

“You’re going to have to do a better job of obeying me, Rick, or you’ll be sorrier than you can possibly imagine. Open your mouth.”

When I do, she thrusts her razor-like heel between my lips. “Suck on that.” I try to obey and at the same time avoid having my tongue slashed open. For the first time, I wonder if Ruby would truly hurt me. A part of me notices how the twinge of fear increases my already unbearable tumescence.

“I know that this excites you, Rick,” she murmurs as she fucks my mouth with her heel. “You can’t pretend with me. I see right into your slimy little heart. I’m warning you, though…” She pulls out her heel, raking it against the insides of my mouth, and leans over me, skewering me with dark, angry eyes. “If you come without permission, I’ll make you hurt so badly that even a pain slut like you won’t enjoy it. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Mistress Ruby.” Am I really like this, I wonder? A part of me is watching my reactions, from a distance, in total disbelief.

“Good. Now put your hands behind your back.” When I do, she circles behind me, and I feel smooth lengths of nylon cord wrapping around my wrists. “Try to get loose.” I wriggle and twist my hands. I’m trussed like a chicken, though there’s enough give in the rope that the blood still flows.

She sits down on a bench opposite me, her legs apart. A cloud of her musk washes over me. The lacy garment she wears is open at the crotch. I lean toward her, trying to inhale her, dying to touch her, to taste her. Her fragrant, shadowy sex draws me like a magnet. My cock swings wildly toward north.

“Want me?” I can’t answer, struggling as I am to suppress the cum that is boiling up my stalk. She knows the answer anyway. But she’s relentless.

“Answer me!” She reaches out and pinches the tip of my bulb with knife-like fingernails.

“Ow!” I can barely speak. “Yes, I want you. You know I do. Please, Ruby, let me eat you. Let me make you come.”

Her slap knocks me off balance. “How dare you? And what did I tell you about addressing me?”

My cheek stings from her blow. Pre-cum drips to the mat, gathering in a sticky pool.

“I’m sorry, Mistress.” Suddenly I am—dreadfully, desperately sorry. All I want to do is to please her, if not with my body then with my obedience.

The door swings open suddenly. I look up. The sight that meets my eyes knocks the breath out of me as surely as if Ruby had punched me in the solar plexus.

The menacing figure standing in the doorway might have been born of de Sade’s nightmares. Her ripe body is arrayed in red leather and gray steel, studded straps and woven chains. The bands bite into her fleshy breasts; the chains are pulled tight between her labia. I understand the message of this costume: my pain, it says, is but the merest echo of the pain that I can inflict. Blood-hued boots sheath her muscled calves and thighs. The heels make Ruby’s spikes look modest and unremarkable. The black leather gloves she wears have pointed studs embedded in the palms. Her hair is slicked back from her brow. Her eyes are heavily shadowed with black and gold, and her full lips look as though they have been painted in gore.

She is smiling, a mocking, knowing smile that shrivels whatever vestiges of my self-esteem still remain. I know that it is Margaret—only Margaret, I tell myself—but when she lays her studded palm against my cheek, I cringe.

“So, you’ve already started,” she says. Her voice is low, melodious, strangely soothing. “And how is our little Richard?” She grasps my cock in her gloved hand and squeezes, just enough to scare me. “Eager, it seems, for the evening’s entertainment. Is that so, Richard?”

She looks into my eyes, and I’m simultaneously flooded with excitement and guilt. I can’t believe that I used this woman so badly. I’m aroused and terrified by the thought of how she might take her revenge.

Margaret grips me more firmly, until steel bites into my turgid flesh. “Answer me, Rick. Are you eager? Are you ready?”

I can’t hold her gaze. I look miserably down at her hand clutching me. “Yes, Mistress. I’m ready.”

“Very good. Well, we won’t keep you waiting. Luna, bring in the bag so that we can show our little friend all the delightful things we have in store for him.”

I look up and see that Luna has joined us. She looks delicious in a gauzy white chemise that shows all her charms, and a tiny thong to match. Unlike her companions, she is barefoot.

She scurries over to Margaret, carrying a heavy-looking duffel bag. Then, to my astonishment, she kneels at the other woman’s feet.

“Open it,” Margaret commands. Luna hastens to obey. “Now, Rick, let me show you some of the souvenirs that I brought back from San Francisco.”

The first thing that she finds is a vicious-looking riding crop. It whistles as she swishes it through the air. When it smacks into the mat just in front of my knees, I jump. “Perhaps you’d like to be my little pony,” she comments, as she puts it aside.

Next she pulls out some tangled contraption of stainless steel. It takes me three breaths to recognize it as a pair of nipple clamps, adorned with tear-drops of dull gray metal that I realize must be weights. She opens the jaws of one and holds it just above my chest. 

“You seemed so interested in the effects of clothespins,” she remarks genially, leaning close. I close my eyes and grit my teeth, anticipating agony when she releases the spring and allows it to close on my flesh. But nothing happens. When I open my eyes, I see that all three of the women are laughing at me.

My cheeks burn. My cock throbs. Margaret is busily pulling more articles from her infernal bag, each one more obscene than the last. A heavy leather strap with studs on the end. A huge, realistic dildo, black as coal. A device made of fluorescent green jelly that I recognize, with a sinking stomach, as a butt plug. Leather cuffs and straps. “I didn’t bring back a cat,” she remarks to Ruby. “I figured we could use yours.”

Ruby strokes the leather thongs almost lovingly. “Indeed. I’ve been counting on it.”

For a very limited time, you can get your own copy of this taboo novel, completely free! See my blog post from yesterday for details!

Free books for my birthday! #giveaway #BDSM #erotica #LGBTQ

 Image by diapicard from Pixabay

Today is my birthday! (NO, I am not going to tell you how old I am!)

To celebrate, I thought I’d give my loyal readers and followers some gifts – free ebooks!

For a limited time (specifically, until February 4^th), you can download free copies of The Heart of the Deal and/or Vows, in whatever format you want, from Smashwords.

Here’s all you have to do:

- Go to the link under the book blurb below.

- Click on the “Buy” button in the upper right of the page.

- Enter the appropriate coupon code. The price will drop to zero.

- Click on the “Check Out” button. Then you’ll get the chance to download the book in the format of your choice.

It’s that easy.

Let the party begin!

  

All's fair in lust and business

Ruby Maxwell Chen, the lovely and ruthless CEO of a sprawling British business empire, has no qualms about playing dirty – very dirty. She’s happy to use sex to help her close a deal, especially when she’s the one on top. Ruby loves the game, and she expects to win. When she encounters the inexplicably charismatic American entrepreneur Rick Martell, though, she wonders if she hasn't finally met her match.

From the trendy clubs of London to the Hollywood Hills, Ruby and Rick compete for ownership of a strategic factory in Malaysia. As their struggle for dominance escalates and their mutual lust flares, they draw their employees and associates into their outrageous power games. The stakes could scarcely be higher, as Ruby and Rick play for the ultimate prize: a night of total physical surrender.

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/942426

Coupon code: YV38J

The more you try to release desire, the more attached you become.

Travel brings out a strange recklessness in my wife, a hunger for extremes that I don’t see when we’re in New York. I would never have acted on my desire for male flesh if she hadn’t bullied me into my first homosexual encounter. Not that I regret it. I’ll never forget that incandescent night with the audacious young punk she bought for me in Amsterdam.

Now, she wants us to seduce the achingly beautiful Buddhist monk we’ve met in Luang Prabang. I try to reject her suggestions, to resist temptation. But I can’t banish the images of Souvannaphone— ripe lips curved in a half-smile, brown eyes sparkling with gentle challenge, smooth curves of golden flesh that cry out to be kissed. I yearn for his body—and his serenity.

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/771439

Coupon code: YG82X

Don’t wait too long! The coupons expire in a few days.

 

The Care and Feeding of Your Back List - #Publishing #ForAuthors #Backlist

A while ago a writer friend of mine included a wonderful excerpt from his first book in a blog post. I’d read (and loved) this book when it first released; perusing the post felt like meeting up with an old friend.

Then the author casually mentioned, in a post comment, that the book was out of print. I felt like shaking him in frustration. Why in the world, I wanted to scream, did you let that happen? Don’t you care about keeping your work available?

There’s so much in the world of publishing that we authors can’t control: Amazon’s latest tweaks to its ranking algorithms, payment schemes, and censorship policies; publishers being bought out or going bankrupt; out-of-the-blue bestsellers that have readers (and editors) clamoring for cookie-cutter copies. One thing we can control, however, is the disposition of our accumulated body of work. In my opinion, we owe it to ourselves to keep our backlog of books and stories out there in the world, where readers can access them.

Some of you may ask, why bother? Everyone knows it’s only new releases that get any sales (as demonstrated by the thirty-day cliff phenomenon). Who’s going to want to read a book that’s a year, or five years, or ten years old? Anyway, no publisher will be interested in a dingy old reprint. If some of your back list dates from before the ebook revolution, you might not even have the manuscript in digital form.

Examined carefully, none of these arguments (excuses?) holds up to scrutiny.

First of all, though your book may be “old”, there are undoubtedly millions of potential readers who’ve never encountered it. Sure, your fans (whether you have five or fifty thousand) may have read your earlier work, but for lots of readers, your book will be a welcome discovery. If someone picks up an old book of yours and enjoys it, he or she is going to want more. You need to make sure you can give these people what they crave.

I did a survey back in 2015, trying to better understand my potential market. Out of the 200 or so people who completed the survey (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/2015/08/reader-survey-results-part-2.html), 30% had never read one of my books, and another 25% weren’t sure. That’s over one hundred people for whom everything on my back list will be new and exciting. I want those readers!

Even for readers who know your work well, it’s important to keep your older stuff available. What if they want to reread one of their all-time favorites?

My brother and I often share our favorite books. For my his birthday last year, I went to Amazon, looking for two books I'd read—and loved—decades ago: Winter’s Tale by Mark Helprin and Little Big by John Crowley. My copies of both books date from the eighties. They’re falling apart. I was delighted to discover new editions of both titles. I sent them off to my brother, and you know, I just might replace my tattered volumes with new ones.

Make sure that readers who love your work can do that, too.

You may be interested in re-releasing your out-of-print opus, but think publishers won’t want it. Think again. These days, especially, publishers who are trying to satisfy the market’s insatiable desire for fiction are more than willing to look at your back list titles. In fact, they may recognize that they’ll have to invest less time and effort in a previously released book because it will have already been through one or more rounds of editing.

My debut novel Raw Silk has been through three publishers and four editions. My second novel (now re-titled as Miranda’s Masks) has had four editions, my third novel (The Heart of the Deal) three, my fourth novel Exposure, three. I’ve had publishers go bankrupt and others decide they didn’t want to publish erotica after all. In a few cases, I’ve reclaimed my rights because I wasn’t happy about my sales or the way the publisher was run. My goal has always been to keep all my novels available—whatever that required.

“But I write short stories”, you may respond. “Nobody wants those.”

Not true. I recently published a 5K tale (a reprint) through an indie publisher who was actively seeking short fiction. You can also self-publish your stories, either individually or as a collection. In fact, since most anthologies ask for only one-time rights, you may be able to publish a short piece in multiple places.

If you really can’t find anyone to publish your tale, you can still make it available free, using it to introduce readers to your published work. That’s better than letting it languish in the dusty recesses of your computer memory! For instance, I just self-published Crowd Pleaser, a whole volume of free shorts from the vaults.

And what if your book was published so long ago that you don’t have the source in electronic form? As long as you have a physical copy, you can subject it to Optical Character Recognition (OCR), a process that uses image analysis to recognize typescript and turn it into digital text. OCR may produce a significant number of errors, so you will need to carefully review and revise the output. However, this process will allow you to create both ebook and print versions of a book that was previously available only in hard copy form.

One other outlet for your back list that you might want to consider is audio. If you create an audio book version of an old book, you'll have a new release to shout about. This might lead to some ebook or print sales as well.

Once your older work is available, you should spend time promoting it, at least occasionally. I’ll never forget the time in 2015 when I posted an excerpt from a book published way back in 2010. One reader told me in a comment that after reading my blog, she’d gone out and bought herself a copy. Talk about encouragement—I felt totally energized.

In short, there’s no reason why you can’t keep all (or most) of your back list in print and available to readers. The only real barriers are emotional. These days it’s sometimes hard to muster the motivation to do anything related to publishing or marketing. The obstacles seem insurmountable. Don’t allow yourself to become discouraged. There are legions of readers out there, searching for great fiction. Help them find yours!

Charity Sunday: Room to Read - #CharitySunday #Literacy #BlogHop

Nearly two years ago, I dedicated a Charity Sunday post to Room to Read.

Room to Read is an organization promoting literacy, education and gender equality worldwide, but especially in lower income countries. Since it was founded in 2000, Room to Read has constructed over 1,900 schools and established more than 17,000 libraries. The charity has published more than 1,100 original local language children’s titles and distributing over 15.5 million books. More than 31,000 girls have received enhanced educational opportunities and life skills training. Overall, Room to Read has impacted the lives of more than 10 million children, in places like Laos, Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, Tanzania, Cambodia and South Africa.

I got an incredible response to that post. I’m guessing this is because people who follow my blog love to read as much as I do, and deeply appreciate the importance of literacy. Books are our joy; we want to share that joy.

So my post today is a reprise. For each comment I receive on this post, between now and next month, I will donate one dollar to Room to Read. If you’re here, reading this – please take a minute or two to comment. It doesn’t cost you a penny to do a bit of good for the world.

Today is also our first attempt at making Charity Sunday into a multi-author event. After my usual excerpt, you’ll find a list of links to the sites of other authors who are participating today. Note that each individual author chooses his or her own charity to support, and decides how much to donate. I’m just the organizer!

Speaking of excerpts, here’s a sexy bit from my recently released erotic romance The Heart of the Deal. Not much reading going on here – but it’s definitely about female empowerment!

My father always recommended physical activity as an antidote to stress. So, here I am at Proscenium, lately my favorite club. I need to move, to dance, perhaps to indulge in more specialized exercise.

Proscenium is housed in a remodeled movie house from the forties. The stage has been extended out to become a dance floor. A carved and gilded ceiling arches high overhead, crisscrossed by multicolored lasers. With the seats removed, the sloping orchestra pit gives one a slightly dangerous feeling of vertigo. Like the stage, it is packed with writhing bodies clothed in vinyl, spandex, fake fur, and leather. I see a good deal of bare skin as well.

The main balcony is equipped with a bar and crowded with wobbly tables and chairs. The curtained side balconies are also open, available for more private encounters.

I am in my Asian bitch goddess mode. I have pulled my hair back into a long, tight ponytail that hangs down to my waist. I am wearing butter-soft, black leather: laced vest, miniskirt, stiletto-heeled boots, broad studded belt. From that belt hangs an elegant little flogger, a statement and an invitation. My eyelids are silver and my lips are scarlet. I am gorgeous, I know, an exotic vision of female power.

I stride into the churning mass of dancers on the stage and begin to dance. The music pulses, alien and compelling. Techno is not usually to my taste, but tonight it suits my mood.

Swirling, grinding my hips, flicking my hair from side to side, bathing in the heat of the flesh around me, I am beginning to feel better. Richard Martell had best beware if he plans on crossing Ruby Chen.

Part of me is lost in the beat and the movement. But I am also scanning the crowd, seeking an appropriate partner. I notice him just as he sees me. He is a bear of a man, with lush black hair and a beard. He’s dressed in medieval mode, a flowing shirt of royal blue whose open-laced neck shows more hair on his chest. Riding boots, leather wrist-cuffs, a chain-mail bag at his waist. Despite his size, he moves well. His tight suede leggings show off his muscled thighs. As I hold his gaze, I also can see the telltale swelling at his groin.

With the slightest motion of my head, I summon him to me. He towers above me, despite my four inch heels, but when I fix my eyes on his, he cannot sustain the contact. Instead, he looks down at the instrument of punishment on my belt, half-fearful, half-eager. He licks his lips.

“Let’s dance,” I say, more a command than a suggestion. He nods, and we begin to move together.

I shake my shoulders, my hips. Thrust my breasts forward, so that the thong lacings part and he can see the shadowy valley of my cleavage. My body is close to his, close enough for me to smell his nervous sweat, but I do not allow us to touch. My crotch dampens. That familiar, demanding ache rises in my sex. I trail my fingers through the air, across his body, a hair’s breadth from his bulking erection. So little space between us—does he catch the musky scent of my desire?

I lean a little closer, so that he can hear me over the whine of the synthesizer. “You were staring at my whip. Do you like it?”

Underneath his beard, he blushes. He nods, reluctant but obviously excited.

“Do you want it?” I ask, pushing him further. “You will have to earn it, you know.”

The music is too loud for me to catch his response. But I see his answer in his face.

“Come with me, then.” I turn and slink toward the side corridor, heading for one of the private balconies. I do not look back, but I can feel him following me, sense his eyes on the tight leather that sheathes my hips.

When he parts the velvet curtains, I am already ready for him, sitting on one chair, legs apart with a booted foot on each of two others.

“Remove your shirt. And kneel.”

He does not require more explicit instructions. He pulls his lovely blue tunic over his head. His torso is powerful and darkly furred. His bulk making him a bit clumsy, he lowers himself to the appropriate position between my thighs, then looks up at me for further orders.

Buy Links for The Heart of the Deal

Kinky Literature

https://www.kinkyliterature.com/book/6188-the-heart-of-the-deal-business-bondage-discipline-and-desire/

Amazon US

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07SJY8PTC

Amazon UK

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07SJY8PTC

Smashwords

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/942426

Barnes and Noble

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-heart-of-the-deal-lisabet-sarai/1131920310?ean=2940163239221

Kobo

https://www.kobo.com/th/en/ebook/the-heart-of-the-deal-business-bondage-discipline-and-desire

Add on Goodreads

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/46258845-the-heart-of-the-deal

Please leave a comment letting me know your thoughts, and share the gift of reading. Then I hope you’ll visit the other authors who are participating this Sunday.

Here's the direct link to the Calendar Girls post:
https://rusticatinginthetropics.com/2019/08/25/charity-sunday-calendar-girls-florida/ 

Who’s on top? #BDSM #femdom #erotica

If you survey my back list, you’ll get the definite – and correct – impression that I’m interested in power exchange. I prefer that term to the more succinct “BDSM” or “D/s”, because it better expresses the nature of my fascination. For me, the attraction of BDSM lies in the intimate and complementary connection between the dominant and the submissive. The submissive voluntarily surrenders power to the dominant, who explicitly accepts both that power and the concomitant responsibility for the sub’s welfare. This is the core transaction. Whatever happens afterward – spanking, bondage, fire play, needle play, sensory deprivation, as well as explicitly sexual activities – depends on this mutual trust.

You can have power exchange without traditional BDSM activities. If you can ask, “who’s on top?” and get a clear answer, you may have a power exchange situation going on, even if none of the familiar BDSM trappings are present.

I’ve labeled my most recent novel, The Heart of the Game, as “BDSM”. It is all about power, and the way it shifts among the characters. However, in many of the erotic scenes, there’s not a whip or handcuff to be found. Nevertheless, much of the excitement derives from the underlying power exchange.

Here’s an example, an exclusive excerpt not previously available online.

~~~~

It hits me like a ten ton lorry when I get to my room. Desire: intensely physical, wet, hungry, messy, uncontrolled desire. I somehow managed to stifle it during my conversation with Rick, but now it pounces, threatening to tear me apart. Without ceremony, I thrust my hand into my soaked panties, frantically kneading my swollen clit. In fifteen seconds I’m panting on the bed, shivering in the aftermath of my climax.

Now that that is over with, I can think more clearly. My lust simmers rather than boils. I turn off all the lights in the room, and open the blinds.

Rick’s room is across from mine. I noticed this during his tour. His blinds are shut, but I can see his form silhouetted against them.

In the dark, I find my red satin nightgown and slip it over my head. The fabric slithers coolly over my still-heated flesh. It’s a simple garment; spaghetti straps, plunging neckline, and sides slit to the top of my thighs.

Next, I remove the light bulb from the lamp by the bed and throw it into the wastebasket.

Finally, taking a deep breath, I press the button labeled “4” on the intercom panel.

“Raoul speaking. Can I help you?”

“This is Ruby. Sorry to bother you, but my reading light seems to be missing a bulb.”

“I’ll be there in a flash.”

For the next ninety seconds, I sit on the bed in the darkened room, watching my breath flow in and out, trying to calm my heart.

There’s a knock, and then a soft, Spanish-tinged voice. “Ruby?”

I stretch out on the bed, adjusting my position so that my hips swell provocatively under the crimson satin and the fabric parts to reveal my bare thigh. “Come in.”

Turquoise reflections from the swimming pool outside are the only illumination. Still, I know that Raoul can see well enough. There’s a sharp intake of breath as he takes in my attire and my posture. I pretend not to notice. “It’s that lamp, there on the night table.”

He leans over to fumble with the fixture. His naked forearm, furred with fine black hair, is inches from me. I catch a whiff of his sweat as I prop myself up on one arm, as if to supervise. I am beginning to enjoy myself.

My strap slips off my left shoulder. My left breast tumbles halfway into view. The handyman pretends to occupy himself with his task, screwing in the new bulb with exaggerated care. I can hear his accelerated breathing. I fancy I can hear his heart beating faster because of my proximity.

Finally he switches on the lamp. Warm light spills over the bed. “There you go,” he says, beginning to straighten. My hand on his arm stops him. He looks at me, hardly daring to believe what he reads in my face. Desire, and willingness. I run my fingers lightly down his forearm, just brushing the fur, sensing the muscles shifting under his skin. When my fingers find his, I grasp his hand, and slowly bring it to cover my exposed breast.

He gasps, but takes advantage of the situation, cupping my warm flesh in his palm, lightly squeezing the nipple. “Thank you, Raoul,” I whisper. “I appreciate your prompt service.”

His confused lust arouses me. Nothing turns me on like a helpless, horny man. Sitting up, I slip off both straps and let the shimmering fabric slide down to my waist. He picks up his cue and begins to symmetrically massage my other breast. He is skilled, his touch at once firm and gentle. When he addresses himself to my swollen nipples, he twists them just the way I enjoy. I purr softly as his caresses awaken echoes in my sex.

“Lovely,” I sigh. Reaching out a finger, I run it along the length of his fly, testing the hardness beneath. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable if you took those off?”

“Whatever you say,” he replies with a smile. Standing back, he strips his shirt over his head in one smooth motion, then pulls down the stressed zipper. Under his slacks, he wears black silk boxers. He pauses, giving me a moment to appreciate his magnificent physique. Then he pulls down the shorts, letting them drift to the floor and revealing an impressive erection.

“Come closer,” I encourage. When he does, I take his cock in both hands and begin to play. I stroke him, knead him, trace his veins with the barest touch of my fingertip. He moans. I cup his balls in my palm and give them an exploratory squeeze. He shudders in delight.

“Feel good?” I squeeze harder, at the same time pinching the fleshy bulb between forefinger and thumb. His groaning is answer enough.

He’s letting me do whatever I want, and that makes me hotter than ever. I release him, stand and walk over to the chair near the window. He’s about to follow, but I stop him with a glance. “No, you stay there. For now.”

Settling in the chair, I begin to fondle myself through the nightgown. He strokes himself as he watches. My familiar fingers feel strange and wonderful shrouded in satin. The fabric slithers over my folds, smoother than the smoothest skin. At first, I am delicate, letting the lovely stuff whisper between my legs. Soon, though, I need more. I’m rougher and raunchier, digging both hands into my aching cleft. A dark stain of wetness spreads from my center, until my whole lap is soaked.

Raoul’s eyes are riveted on the damp fabric, enticed by what he knows lies underneath. His nostrils flare as my musk fills the room. His cock, encircled by his busy fingers, strains rigidly toward the ceiling. His sensuous lips are curved in a half-smile.

He’s lovely and masculine, and right now, I know he’s mine to command. He’ll do whatever I ask. I rise, reach for the hem of my garment and pull it over my head. He licks those full lips at the sight of me—dark thatch, ivory thighs, glistening cunt-lips as crimson as my gown.

~~~~ 

 

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