Sizzling Sunday: Hot Brides in Vegas - #99cents #erotica #lesbian @Archer_Larry

Happy Sizzling Sunday! Today I’ve got a never-before-shared excerpt from Hot Brides in Vegas, the first book in my Vegas Babes series. This bit is from the perspective of Laura, one of the bridesmaids, and the first of the trio to strut her stuff at the notorious Fox’s Den.

By the way, the book is still on sale for only 99 cents! But not for too much longer. Get your copy today (links at the end of the post).

Never underestimate the power of a horny bride.

Francesca Torelli’s tycoon father is throwing a lavish Las Vegas wedding for his only child. Her fiancé Jake and his buddies set out for a stag night, exploring the fleshpots of Sin City. Meanwhile, Fran and her bridesmaids Laura and Chantal are stuck at the resort under the watchful eye of her stern Aunt Giulia, who has promised her brother that Franny will come to the altar a virgin.

Frustrated and annoyed by these double standards, the young women hatch a plan to escape their chaperone and have some fun of their own. With the help of a susceptible concierge, a butch ex-cop limo driver and a scandalous French couturiere, they find their way to The Fox’s Den, the most exclusive—and outrageous—gentlemen’s club in the city. Owner Larry Archer and his crew of strippers, bouncers, voyeurs and sluts are more than happy to welcome the delectable trio as contestants performing at the club’s famous Amateur Night.

Sizzling Snippet

Larry beamed at the customers, waiting for the hubbub to die down. “And now,” he said, “I’d like to introduce our first contestant. Put your hands together and give a big Vegas welcome to the lovely Laura!”

The first bars of her chosen music filtered through the din. “Wicked Game” by Chris Isaak, a song that always made her feel sexy. Laura stepped out of the shadows, into the pool of light on the stage.

The applause hit her like a physical blow. She would have stumbled on her sky-high heels, but the music held her.

The world was on fire, and no one could save me but you…

Like fire, lust raced through her. She raised her arms above her head in a luxurious stretch, then pivoted so her back was to the crowd. Ever so slowly, she bent at the waist, walking her hands down her legs to her ankles.

It’s strange what desire will make foolish people do…

She felt her clinging, skimpy dress ride up the back of her thighs before completely baring her ass. Her thong tightened between her cheeks, adding delicious pressure against both her rear hole and her pussy. Laura swung her hips in a figure eight, in perfect time with the music. The audience was silent—hypnotized by her slow, sensual moves—but she felt their eyes on her.

What a wicked game you play, to make me feel this way…

She twirled on her high heels, until she once more faced the crowd. At the same time, she grabbed the hem of her costume and eased the garment up to her waist, showing off her flat stomach, her shadowy navel and the lace-sheathed plumpness of her pussy. A guy sitting at the bar leaned toward her, holding out a ten dollar bill. With a smile she hoped was enticing, she crouched down in front of him, holding his gaze. He stuck the cash into the elastic waistband of her thong. In a flash of wickedness, she pushed the bill under the triangle of fabric that barely covered her sex, then palmed her pussy and rubbed hard.

The spectators burst into wild applause. Meanwhile, Laura went rigid as a mini-climax raced through her. The spotlights dimmed and the room whirled as she struggled to remain standing.

 

Did the people watching know? Of course they did. But maybe it was common for dancers at The Fox’s Den to come on stage. She wouldn’t be surprised.

The song died away, haunting and erotic. Laura pulled the stretchy dress over her head and shook her blonde curls free, as Donna Summer picked up the beat.

Sittin' here, eatin' my heart out waitin'

Waitin' for some lover to call…

Laura strutted around the stage, shimmying her shoulders so that her breasts swung back and forth. People were clapping in time with the music as she bent once more and shook her ass in their faces. She felt high from the lust that washed over her. They wanted her, every single one of them.

“Take it all off,” yelled someone in the back.

She obliged, teasing the thong down over her hips little by little, until everyone could see her shaved pussy. The drenched Alexander Hamilton fluttered to the floor. Oh God!

A voluptuous brunette at the bar pumped her fingers in and out of her month, then made a come-hither gesture. Laura sank to the stage directly in front of the woman, knees spread wide, swollen cunt lips gaping. Her eyes locked to Laura’s, the dark-haired lady slid her fingers bit by bit into Laura’s weeping slit. Drawing them out, equally slowly, she dragged them over Laura’s clit.

Fireworks shot through Laura’s body. Juices gushed from her, puddling on the stage. It was lucky she was already kneeling; in this onslaught of sensation, her legs would not have held her.

Get your copy today – only 99 cents!

Kinky Literature – http://kinkyliterature.com/book/1692-hot-brides-in-vegas/

Amazon US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B077JRMGJF/

Amazon UK - https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B077JRMGJF/

Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/758698

Barnes and Noble - https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/hot-brides-in-vegas-lisabet-sarai/1127452565?ean=2940154622568

Kobo - https://www.kobo.com/th/en/ebook/hot-brides-in-vegas

Add on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36588255-hot-brides-in-vegas

Meanwhile, if you want more, click on over to Larry Archer’s blog for my guest post about the latest Vegas Babes title, Sin City Sweethearts.

An Uninhibited Interview with Author Larry Archer - #interview #erotica @LarryArcher

As you undoubtedly know by now, I just did a paired release with my friend and colleague Larry Archer. I set my novella Hot Brides in Vegas in Larry’s fictional world of swingers and strippers. Of course Larry's book, Nina the Fallen Ballerina, also revolves around The Fox's Den, the wildest, classiest strip club in Las Vegas. We wrote intros for each other’s books, too.

Anyway, today we’re each interviewing the other. But these aren’t your typical author interviews, with superficial questions like “Where do you get your ideas?” or “Are you a plotter or a pantser?” No, we’re going for the real dirt in these conversations—as you might expect from two smut mongers like us!

I hope you’ll go read Larry’s interview with me, here:

http://larryarcher.blog/2017/12/04/lisabet-sarai-an-uncensored-interview/

Meanwhile, to find out everything you ever wanted to know about the real Larry Archer, read on! 

Be warned, though; this interview is not safe for work!

Lisabet: Obviously, Larry Archer, the owner of The Fox's Den, is in some sense your alter ego. In what ways are you and your character similar? How are you different?

Larry: Owning The Fox's Den is a Walter Mitty thing for me. My character is exactly like me or at least how I perceive myself to be with the exception of owning a strip club and having more money than God. My wife and I are professional white collar types in real life. I did, in fact, grow up on a farm in East Texas, which shaped a lot of my values. My father is a blue-collar type, and my mother is a psychologist, a weird combination I grant you. Between my Mom's liberal ideas and my Dad's right of center conservative ideas, my belief structure is definitely a little skewed.

When I write, I picture myself in the story and react as I would. I like to think that I'm towards the quiet side while my wife is an "A" type and typically bouncing off the walls so to speak. We are complete opposites, and I guess we complement each other.

Back in the mid-west, we frequented several strip clubs and one key-club. Typically about twice a month, if there weren't a house party, we would end up at a strip club or the key club. Normally it would be 5-6 couples and 2 or 3 unicorns, so our normal going-out group was 15-20 people. This was the basis for The Fox's Den as it ended up being a cross between our favorite strip club and the key club.

Our favorite strip club had couples night on Saturdays, and a lot of the girls would get up and go topless on the dance floor to the delight of the customers. It's funny how guys will crowd around to see a thirty-year-old housewife go topless when there are eighteen-year-olds with perfect bodies dancing on stage.

The key club was your wildest fantasy, an actual club where the only people who got in had to have a key. A girl I met at a house party was a waitress there and invited us to the club. We met with the owner and after making our bones with him were invited to join. It was a large two-story building, with a normal bar on the bottom floor, and a door with one of those round keys that would unlock it and allow access to the second level. There was a bar at one end with a pretty big stage and the rest 4-tops.

The club typically had about half and half couples and single guys, with a few single females. It was not quite an "on-premise" swing club as most of the guys were straight but a majority of the couples were swingers. Pretty much anything went at the club, and there was always an impromptu floor show with several naked housewives and sometimes a lucky guy. Like the Den, single guys had to keep their hands to themselves except when invited and this rule was strictly enforced by the management. Of course, we always had one or two cops with us in case of problems.

Lisabet: I know that you and your wife are long-time participants in the swinging lifestyle. What's the wildest scene you've experienced as part of that lifestyle? Has that scene made it into any of your books?

Larry: We host several big parties a year, and the best one by far is our annual New Year's Eve Pajama Party. There are between 50-60 couples invited plus a handful of singles. We travel a lot, and as a result, there are typically a number of couples from across the country who we've met. As you can probably imagine having 100+ minimally dressed people in a 4,000 square foot house means that it's wall to wall people.

New Year's typically lasts until the next normal work day, so our party is generally 2-3 days longs long. After New Year's Eve, it's about 5 – 10 couples that end up spending the weekend with us.

As far as the craziest thing, one that sticks out is the night one of our neighbors crashed our New Year's Eve parties. About 1AM, the doorbell rings, and Wifey and I answer the door to discover our neighbors from three houses down standing there. They are all decked out and came home from another party and decided to stop in. Up until that point, we've always been able to avoid inviting them as that would have required some disclosure that we didn't want to make.

I'm in a bathrobe and Foxy is in a one-piece Snoopy long john outfit, which was unbuttoned down below her waist. I don't remember if the flap was down or not. Not knowing exactly what to do as they were good friends, except straight, we invited them in.

There was an orgy going on in the living room and most of the people at this time were naked or close to it. Steering them to a quiet spot, we told them that they were fine to stay except what they saw, stayed there. Thankfully, they quickly left but it was funny that the wife wanted to stay but I think her husband was a little freaked out.

Lisabet: When you're writing one of your stories, do you get turned on? Do you have to stop and - um - do something about this?

Larry: Writing turns me on and yes I'm often guilty of abusing myself when writing. I think that's why I like writing at Starbucks or in a fast food restaurant because you can't jerk off and have to focus on writing. Or I'll go and bang wifey. LOL

Lisabet: What do you think is the most erotic thing in the universe?

Larry: Has to be watching two women make love, hands down. I love watching two women together especially when I have my camera or phone. At home, Jack (the security guy in my stories) usually films but he tends to shake the camera if his nympho wife is part of the mix and getting taken care of.

Lisabet: Tell us about Nina The Fallen Ballerina. Where did the idea come from? Where did it take you?

Larry: I've realized that I like to write about the seduction of nice girls and turning them into "good girls." A lot (most) of the girls in my stories are variations of my wife. She's tall, lanky, medium jugs, brunette big hair, and a head turner.

Nina came about from one night when Wifey and her two BBF's went to the Smith Center to watch a play. For all the wild places in Vegas, Smith Center is one of our few places of culture.

That coupled with the fact we had just finished an all-night music concert at the race track where the girls typically dress in tu-tu's and fur boots. This got me on the subject of ballet, and naturally, I started to think about what it would be like to screw someone with a tu-tu on? Then it dawned on me, that ballerinas are typically tiny little things and when I tried to picture Wifey in a tu-tu, I had to laugh. She's almost six feet and would probably make two ballerinas. Then it just followed on Nina would be The Fallen Ballerina, frustrated that she was unable to fulfill her lifelong dream but what could she do?

Then Nina sees an ad for erotic dancers at The Fox's Den and decides to give it a try. She loves to wear sexy clothes and while not sure that she has the nerve to dance naked is willing to see.

Once at the club, Nina falls prey to Linda, the manager, who in real life is a dancer who looks close enough to Wifey to be her twin sister. Nina ends up falling in love with Linda and taking her clothes off. Not necessarily in that order!

Lisabet: Thanks for sharing your secrets with us, Larry. All I can say is, I’d love to come to your New Year’s Party some time...

Get your hands on Nina today!

http://kinkyliterature.com/book/1691-nina-the-fallen-ballerina/

https://www.amazon.com/Nina-Fallen-Ballerina-Swingers-Swinger-ebook/dp/B077KJ47PD/

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/759720

Back List Blast: Exposure (#erotic #suspense #pittsburgh)

Get your copy now! Amazon  BN  Kobo  Excessica

We're shy afterwards. We hardly talk on the way back to my house, but his kiss when we arrive is heated and fervent. "Do you want to come in for a while?" I ask, wondering how it will feel to have a man in my bed after such a long time.

He shakes his head. "I'm done in," he says with a mischievous grin. "Somebody really put me through the blender." He kisses me again, more gently. "And maybe now you'll get a good night's sleep. I'll call tomorrow."

"Thanks, Jimmy. For everything."

"Anytime," he laughs, then turns toward his car.

I'm careful to lock the door behind me, but I'm still high from the evening's events. Only when I come out of the shower do I notice anything strange. I open my lingerie drawer to get out my silk kimono, and find that all my lovely things are jumbled together, without any order. I was nervous and fussy while dressing, I remember, but I can't imagine that I would have left my underwear in this state.

I check the other drawers. They are equally muddled. Most of the sweaters and jerseys are folded, but clumsily, and my usual organization by color and season is totally upset. Whoever rummaged through my clothing tried, without success, to disguise that fact.

Someone was in my house, while I was out with Jimmy. An intruder into my personal space. My haven! I sink down on the bed, shaking with mingled anger and fear at this violation. After a moment, I regain control of myself.

Someone had been here. Someone might be here still. I fish around in my purse for my Mace. I retrieve my haircutting scissors from the bathroom. Donning my terry robe, I creep into the hallway, a weapon in each hand.

Across the upstairs hall is my den and office, formerly my father's bedroom. I stop and listen outside the door. All is silent. Reaching inside, I flick on the light. The room is empty. There's no closet, nowhere to hide. But there are signs of disturbance. My desk drawer is open. My checkbook is on the writing surface as if someone had been reviewing the register. And my yellow pad, with my attempts at analyzing the events around Tony's murder. I know that I left it on the desk. Now it's gone. I search the rest of the desk, the cubbies and the file drawer. It's simply not here.

Somehow I'm not surprised. I feel cold, cold and clear as arctic ice. Someone was here, someone who knows something about Tony's death. Someone who thinks I know something, or have something that will lead me to the truth.

Shivering, I inch my way downstairs and check the front parlor. All is quiet and empty, though the burglar left his mark here, too. Knickknacks misplaced on the mantel. My father's humidor left half-open.

Finally, I make my way to the kitchen. Here, there's the clearest evidence: a tumbler with remnants of scotch, and a cigarette butt snuffed out in a saucer. By this point, it seems, my unwelcome guest didn't care if he left traces.

The back door, I discover, is unlocked. I'm one hundred percent certain I didn't leave it that way. Carefully, keeping my body behind the door, I scan the yard. The light filtering from the kitchen windows is bright enough for me to see that there is no one in my little square of turf. It also shows me crushed tomato plants and bean vines torn from their trellises, clearly marking the intruder's escape route.

At that point, my rage finally overwhelms my fear. I pour myself a finger of scotch and sit at the kitchen table, simmering in helpless anger and vowing some kind of revenge.

Then a horrible thought crosses my mind. Jimmy knew I would be out tonight. He was the only one who knew. Was it possible that he was involved in all this, somehow? Is it possible that smiling Jimmy might have betrayed me?

The balance shifts again. Shudders shake my body. Sitting alone under the fluorescent lights, gripping my drink, I am paralyzed by the realization that I don't know who I can trust. If anyone.

Exposure - An Excerpt

Exposure is an erotic thriller with a strong element of romance. Stella, the main character, is probably my favorite of all the protagonists I've created. You can buy your own copy of this novel at Phaze Books

Blurb

Stella is just minding her own business and having a bit of fun, working as an exotic dancer at the Peacock Lounge. Through no fault of her own, she witnesses a double murder and gets pulled into a shady dance of deceit with political bigwigs, mob bosses, dirty cops and scheming widows. Now she’s everyone’s target; her only chance is to sift through the lies and expose the truth.

Excerpt - Adult

The first bars of the music free me from any anxiety. I fix my eyes on him and begin to move. Graceful. Sensual. I'm extremely turned on, but I want this performance to be classy, not raunchy the way I sometimes am.

The shoes go first. Now I unfasten my jacket, lingering over each button. Building the suspense. I'm wearing regular lingerie, flimsy and feminine, instead of one of my costumes. My breasts are like melons, encased in black lace. No padding or wires on this bra; my nipples are clearly visible, pushing the fabric into sweet little peaks.

I do the classic strip, turning my back and inching the skirt zipper down. Shimmying the garment over my hips to my ankles. I feel his eyes on my rump. When I turn back to face him, I try out the stare on him. The results are mixed.

He's not closed off like his friend. I can see deep into his soul. I see passion, hunger, clean and healthy. Not twisted and painful like some of the guys at the Peacock.

At the same time, though, I feel like he sees into me. It's like he's touching me inside, probing, trying to discover what I want. It's strange and very intimate. His eyes make my clit harden and my juices flow.

But my eyes are doing the same to him. I can see the bulge in his tailored trousers. His breath is coming a bit more quickly, too.

I unfasten the bra in front. Instead of tossing it at him, which is my first idea, I let it drift to the floor. I caress my breasts, as much for my own pleasure as for his. I love their heaviness in my hands. I love the way the skin shades to rich darkness at their tips. And the nipples themselves, round and firm like the best Kalamata olives. I roll them between my fingers, my breath starting to become ragged.

Finally, there are just my bikini panties between me and nakedness. I hold off as long as I can, letting the music build to its climax. At the crescendo, I undo the ribbons at each hip, so the thing just falls away from my body. For a moment I stand there proudly, my curly black pubic hair glistening with my own moisture. Tony's eyes devour me. Then the music dies away. I sink to the carpet in a curtsy, strangely exhausted.

I came here to dance. Just a job. But now I want more. And so does Tony.