The ultimate erotic surrender -- #bdsm #99cents #Halloween #bloodsports

Today is release day for my new dark paranormal tale Underground. This vivid, disturbing and arousing story is perfect for Halloween—not the kiddies’ trick or treat celebration, but the ancient festival of the uncanny and unhallowed on which our modern traditions are loosely based.

You’ll find the blurb and an exclusive excerpt below. Like all my paranormal titles, Underground is only 99 cents throughout October, as part of my Month of Magic. I hope you’ll take a chance and get yourself a copy.

Blurb

The long years before I found Underground and Z seem like some bad dream—an endless series of fetish groups and kink clubs, personal ads and bar hook-ups, as I searched everywhere for someone who could understand and satisfy my particular needs. S&M folk like to believe they're tolerant and accepting. They weren't ready to tolerate me, though.

Z doesn’t need blades or blood to take me where I want to go. His unnatural power alone would be enough. He understands how the ritual excites me, though—the slow glide of metal across my breast or along my thigh, the rush of bright pain, the flare of desire as ruby droplets gather in the knife’s wake.

I never told him about the blades and the blood. He just knew, as he seems to know so much else about me.

Buy Links

Amazon US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07HYDVL65/

Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07HYDVL65/

Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/898486

Barnes and Noble – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/underground-lisabet-sarai/1129661349?ean=29401558288

Kobo – https://www.kobo.com/th/en/ebook/underground-95

Goodreads – https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/42122221-underground

Exclusive Excerpt

I know how it started, this awful, insane need. I can trace it back to my initiation into kink, to my very first Master.

I was twenty-four, impressionable and innocent, at least of anything involving BDSM. Flooded with hormones and full of sexual energy, I was ripe to be plucked.

He told me over dinner, his face grave, that he had powers beyond those of normal mortals. He was descended from an ancient family who had practiced magic since the Middle Ages, in the deep-shadowed forests of Germany. That story sounds ludicrous now—or perhaps not, given my relationship with Z. At the time, I was ready to believe. His charisma, his intuition, his knowledge of my secrets, all supported his claims. Certainly, none of my previous lovers had seen how I needed surrender.

That first night, he did not even bind me. Instead he willed me into immobility so thorough I might as well have been strapped to his bed. He didn’t beat me or draw blood. He simply fucked me, using his cock to take me over. I lay limp and receptive beneath his massive body, watching the emotions flit across his boyish face, feeling the pleasure build without the slightest effort on my part.

It happened quite suddenly. I sensed a shift, like the sudden yielding when a difficult key finally enters a lock. Our minds connected. His fantasies lay bare for me to see.

He was a pirate, bloodthirsty and crude, raping a maid snatched from her village. He’d make her beg for more before he was done.

He was an evil wizard, entangling an unsullied virgin in the sticky threads of his magic. She’d never escape.

He was a demon, fucking his victim to death and beyond. He grinned, displaying pointed teeth that I knew would rip me apart after he’d filled me with his spunk. His cock swelled in my depths, larger and larger, stretching me to the point of tearing. Mad triumph lit his face as he slammed into me, his very own precious corpse.

I came then, seared by his obscene imaginings as well as the scalding fountain of his cum. Waves of ecstasy poured through me. Yet I didn’t move, did not writhe beneath him or clench around his shuddering cock. Somehow his mind had drained all vitality from my body. I lay helpless and still as unutterable bliss swept me away.

****

Snag a copy of Underground today, for a thrilling, chilling All Hallow’s Eve. And while you’re over at the bookstore, why not buy one or two of my other paranormals? They’re all less than a buck! For blurbs, covers and direct buy links, go here.

Blood Bond (#bdsm #bloodsports #flashfiction)

He has threatened to tattoo "Kinky Slut" across my breast - over my heart, he vows, where it will be visible to everyone unless I keep my top button fastened. His teasing keeps me off balance, aroused and unsure, caught between laughter and dread "You're mine!" he sometimes yells as he pounds me from behind. "I'm going to carve my name into your ass!"

This isn't like that at all.

He has not spoken for the past twenty minutes. As he wraps my wrists and ankles with soft nylon rope, successive loops artistically aligned, all I hear is his even breathing and the Tangerine Dream CD he's put in the player. Sandalwood-scented candles create dancing shadows in the corners. There's an answering flicker in his velvet-brown eyes as he finishes the final knots and scans my face to make sure the bonds are not too tight. Is it passion? Fear? A hint of danger, that perverse curiosity that makes him push me beyond what we both thought were my limits?

I nod, not wanting to shatter the expectant hush, scarcely believing what we are about to do. I'm immobilized in the straight backed dining room chair, legs lashed to legs, arms behind the back and roped to the rungs. My thighs are spread, of course; the cushion beneath me is already sodden.

"Shall I get a blindfold?" he asks, his rich voice startling after the long interval of quiet.

I shake my head. "I want to watch," I whisper. "Please."

His mocking grin breaks the mood of sombre concentration. "Pervert," he names me, with obvious affection, and plants a kiss on my damp forehead. "Wait, then. I'll be back soon."

He leaves me sitting there, cocooned in the glow. The music winds through my head, haunting and other-worldly. An unearthly calm settles on my spirit. Yet at the same time my heart is hammering against my ribs and my cunt feels sloppy and hungry. I think I am ready.

It seems to take him a long time to gather his equipment. I shiver, then inhale deeply, working to slow my pulse as he's taught me. The recording comes to a close and silence draws in around me. Relax, I tell myself. Breathe. Open.

When he returns, he's as naked as I, his hard cock arrowing toward the ceiling. I gush at the sight. He ignores his own arousal, all business now, setting a rolled up towel on the table beside me and unfolding it to reveal several scalpels, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, gauze and other first aid supplies. He draws a pair of gloves over his big hands. The snap of the latex around his wrists sends a queasy ripple through my stomach.

I can still back out. I don't say a word, though. I will myself to breathe as he rotates my chair so that the back is to the table, then seats himself beside me, at right angles. Drenching a square of gauze in alcohol, he uses it to thoroughly swab my left shoulder. The pure white fabric makes my fair skin look tanned. It leaves a chill, goose-bumped trail in its wake. My nipples peak as though he'd disinfected them as well.

Now he pours more alcohol into a saucer. He swishes a scalpel back and forth in the antiseptic. I can't look away. He brings his steady hand to my shoulder. There's a touch, a barely-there imprint of the needle-like point, indenting my skin. His gaze snags mine. There's a fire raging inside him, but on the outside he's like ice.

"Mine," he whispers.

He reads my answer in my eyes.

I take a deep breath. He increases the force on the scalpel. The blade slices into my flesh, sending a scarlet shock through my whole body. It's heat more than pain, at least at first. A ruby drop wells from the tiny wound. As I watch, it grows fat and round, surface trembling as the weight increases. Finally it breaks, sending a red rivulet trickling down my arm. Another bead swells from the cut to take it's place.

I almost come from the sight alone.

He presses deeper, stroking out his first initial. The sting turns to an ache as he continues to cut. Before long, my whole shoulder is on fire. I bite my lip, determined to be brave.

By this time my arm is a bloody mess. He pauses to wipe away the excess gore with more alcohol, turning the pain sharper and colder. He's finished with the second initial now. Grasshoppers are vaulting around in my guts, but I can't look away.

"Are you all right, Sarah?" he asks.

I nod, not daring to speak. He returns to his work.

His concentration awes me - not to mention his skill. The letters are perfectly regular, a work of art. It occurs to me that he must have practiced. I'm amazed. I knew he'd researched the process - what sort of implements to use, how to slow the healing and enhance the scarring, how to avoid infection. I should have known he'd leave nothing to chance. That's the sort of master he is.

All at once, tears crowd my eyes and spill over. I'm too full of feelings to hold them back. My tortured flesh throbs as he adds the final touches to his design. My clit pulses and my cunt clenches on emptiness. I want to sink to my knees, kiss his feet, thank him from the bottom of my soul.

He's the one who kneels, though. After he's bandaged the wound and mopped up the remaining blood, he snaps off the gloves and settles between my splayed thighs. I come the instant his tongue lashes across my clit.

While I'm still shuddering in my bonds, he grabs the other scalpel and slices through them. He gathers me to his chest, carries me to the bedroom and buries his cock in my depths. Then he fucks me hard, the way we both love. Even as I climb toward another climax, though, I notice he's careful not to brush against my torn shoulder.

Afterward, he confines me in his arms, as though he fears I'll float away. Indeed, I feel boneless and limp, lighter than thistledown. I can't sleep, though. I still hum with the thrill of our mutual audacity, the wonder of our mutual trust.

We were close before. But now my master and I are bound by blood.

Sunday Snog #118: Limits

Happy Sunday!


I just learned that my tale Limits: A Love Story has been chosen by Maxim Jakubowski for the next volume of the Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica. This is a romantic but pretty extreme tale about cutting that really captures my perspective on dominance and submission.

There's no blood in the excerpt below (and anyway, lots of you are vampire fans...), but it's still pretty intense.

After you're done with my snog, head over to Victoria's place for more weekend kisses.

Oh, and if you don't want to wait for MBBNE, this story is included in my collection Spank Me Again, Stranger, available now from Amazon.

How long has he been cutting me? I don't know. I don't care, not really. I float in a rosy fog where love and surrender are the only realities. Not until he begins to loosen my bonds do I return to my body.

"Little one," he's saying, chafing my wrists. "Are you okay?"

I nod, warmed by his smile, soothed by his voice. I feel vague, intoxicated, boneless. When he unfastens the strap around my waist I slump forward. He captures me in his arms and carries me to the bedroom, where he stretches out beside me and peppers my face with kisses.

"Oh, Becca! The things you make me do!" He cups my unmarked breast and suckles the tip. Pleasure emanates from that taut nub to suffuse my whole body.

His tenderness focuses my thoughts and my lust. I grope downward, seeking his cock. He's already swollen; he hardens further at my touch. "Please... Master..."

He lifts his head from my breast and arches one eyebrow. "Yes? What do you want now, my little slut?"

"Take off your clothes. Please? And fuck me."

"You're weak. You've lost blood. You need to rest." He's trying to be the sane, responsible Dom, but I know him too well.

I try to pull his shirt out from his trousers. "I need you inside me. More than anything else."

He doesn't resist, not really. He knows how stubborn I can be, and of course he's dying to take me, too, to finish the job of claiming me.

I lie on my back, arms spread wide and thighs even wider, as though I were cuffed. We both like to pretend I'm powerless. He kneels between my legs, huge and fearsome in his nakedness, his massive erection arrowing toward the ceiling. Ocean-musk rises from my cunt to fill the room. He rubs the fat bulb of his cock back and forth over my lower lips, carefully avoiding my clit.

"Don't tease," I beg. "I can't take it."

"You can take more than you realize," he replies with an evil laugh. "And I'm the one to give it you." Aligning his cock with my slick opening, he impales me with a single jerk of his hips.