It’s the glamorous and imaginative Lisabet Sarai in the erotic author spotlight this week, and this incredibly talented, multi-genre writer has some real treats for you to enjoy. Learn more about Lisabet in her feature below, and enjoy three sizzling free excerpts from her books.
Giveaway alert: comment on this post and Lisabet will choose one in the evening Thursday 20th August to win her brand new release The Antidote (free short story sent by email)! *** comment on this post to enter***
If you’d like to read about other erotic authors you can find the Erotic Author Spotlight Series here. Erotic author and interested in your own free feature post at Cara Sutra? Find the call for submissions page here.
I run a similar free promotional offer for sex bloggers and sex toy reviewers. You can find the Sex Blogger Spotlight Series page here, and the call for submissions (the Q&A and other info to send me) here.
Email me at firstname.lastname@example.org with your info – whether author or blogger – and I will reply with your spotlight date. This will be the next available Monday for authors and the next available Thursday for bloggers.
– Cara Sutra
In fifth grade, I drew pictures of voluptuous girls in bikinis and sold them to my male classmates for a quarter each. In junior high study hall, I circulated copies of James Bond novels, with the good parts clearly marked. I gave away my virginity at fifteen and received my first erotic spanking a decade later. When I met my husband, I tried to get rid of him because I was already juggling four lovers. Fortunately he was persistent—and open-minded. We had our first threesome about six months after we moved in together.
Clearly I was born to write erotica. And I did for several decades, both prose and poetry, to amuse myself and my lovers, before I ever considered publishing my fantasies. Then, during the late nineties, in a hotel in Istanbul, I picked up a used copy of Portia da Costa’s Black Lace novel Gemini Heat.
I devoured that book. It was the most arousing thing I’d ever read—intelligent, outrageous and wonderfully diverse. American by birth, I’d never encountered the Black Lace imprint. I was inspired. Once I recovered from Portia’s hot read, I thought, “I’ll bet I could write something like that.”
It took about a month for me to pen the first three chapters of Raw Silk. Juices were flowing! I sent off those chapters and the synopsis to Black Lace, more or less on a lark. Two weeks later I received a postcard acknowledging my submission and warning me that due to the size of their slush pile, I might not hear from them for several months. I shrugged and filed the message away. I didn’t expect anything else.
Two days after the card arrived, I got an email from the Black Lace editor, offering me a contract and asking me when I could send the full novel. Honestly, I had no idea!
That was seventeen years ago. Since then, Raw Silk has appeared in three editions (and is about to have a fourth). I’ve published eight other novels, dozens of novellas, and probably a hundred short stories, in a wide range of different erotic genres. I’ve written erotic romance, erotica and porn, paranormal, science fiction, historical, erotic horror, suspense and steam punk. My books include gay erotic fiction, lesbian fiction, ménage, swinging, orgies, even a bit of transgender. BDSM is my first love, as you can see by reviewing my book list, but I’m happy writing het vanilla, too.
Why don’t I just settle on one genre? I know I’d sell a lot more books if I had a “brand”. There are two problems. First, I’m easily bored. I don’t want to write the same book over and over again. Second, my personal sexual inclinations are very broad. I’m sort of omnisexual. There are few topics or activities that I couldn’t find arousing under the right circumstances. And even now, I believe personal arousal is essential for creating an effective, authentic erotic story.
Anyway, I’m grateful to Cara for giving me the chance to reach out to new readers. Her specs for author spotlights ask for “any excerpts you can spare”. How much time to you have? ;^) It’s really difficult to choose, give the wealth of possibilities.
Here’s a sizzling extract from my steampunk/ BDSM/ ménage/ werewolf/ Rubenesque/ Bollywood spy novel, Rajastani Moon. (I told you I found it hard to stick to a single genre…!)
“My Lord, I have done as you commanded. The spy awaits you.”
Amir took in Cecily’s shameful state in one astute glance. Amusement was evident in both his voice and his expression. “Excellent work, Sarita. I could hardly have done better myself.” He raised his favourite to her feet and bestowed a kiss upon her lips. She pressed her lithe body against his in an attempt to prolong the embrace, but he gently put her aside and strolled over to confront Cecily.
“She looks extremely fetching in bondage, just as I’d expected.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Cecily glimpsed the other woman’s deepening scowl.
“How are you feeling, Miss Harrowsmith?”
The mockery in his tone was not enough to prevent a surge of renewed lust, which she struggled to suppress. “I presume that’s a rhetorical question, Your Highness,” she replied after a moment. God, but his eyes are hypnotic! “Given that I’m stark naked and trussed up like a turkey about to be roasted.”
“Not entirely rhetorical.” The handsome Rajah circled around to inspect her from the rear. “It seems to me that you’re distinctly damp.” With a chuckle, he swept a finger down the length of her cleft, gathering her moisture. Her inner muscles clenched as sparks struck her clit. When he smeared her juices across her bum, she wanted to sink through the floor. “Based on the available evidence, I’d say that being bound excites you.”
“Nonsense—” she began. Her attempts at a cool, sarcastic response were interrupted by the ferocious slap he landed on her arse. “Ow! Oh…” The sting from his spank vanished, overwhelmed by the delicious sensation of his fingers playing in her cunny. “Oh…ah…”
“And it’s clear that, like many of your compatriots, you find corporal punishment arousing.”
“No—ow! That’s ridiculous…Ow! Ah! Ow!”
He alternated sharp blows to her buttocks with exquisite explorations of her cunt.
“Fondness for punishment is one of the many intriguing cultural phenomena I encountered during my sojourn in your dank country.” He circled her back hole with a slick finger, then probed gently. “I suppose that being exposed to those notions at a tender age might have shaped my own predilections in that regard.”
She tightened her sphincter, trying to keep him out, without success. Guilty pleasure rushed through her as he wiggled his digit just inside the entrance. “Oh—you…uh—you spent time in England? Ah…” Though he pulled out, the effects of his lewd touch continued to ripple through her body. Her sex gaped, hungry, dripping with excitement she couldn’t hide. If only he’d stop chattering and simply take her…
“I was schooled there. Pratan as well. My father believed in the value of knowing one’s enemy.”
“I’m not— We’re not—oh!—your enemy, Your Highness. Ow!”
The Rajah had pinched one of the welts raised by his brother’s whipping. “Hmm. We’ll see. Speaking of Pratan, it looks as though he did quite a job on you yesterday. Perhaps I should refrain from inflicting any further damage on your delectable bottom at present.”
Cecily bit back a moan of disappointment. She hung her head, appalled by her reaction. Her hair tumbled around her face, hiding her shame.
“Fear not, sweet Cecily. I have other ideas about what to do with you—equally nasty and painful, I guarantee.” He gave both her butt cheeks a solid squeeze, waking echoes of her previous beatings, then moved away.
She heard a lock click on some chest or cabinet behind her. He must be seeking some new instrument of punishment or humiliation. She shuddered, from fear or anticipation, or perhaps both at once.
“Where is Pratan?” she ventured as the noise of his rummaging continued. At the moment, she would have felt safer in the company of the bandit.
“He’s—um—indisposed at the moment. That is why I was delayed. Ah, here we are! Don’t worry. I fully intend to share you with my brother.”
Share? Each man was fearsome in his own right. But together…
She pushed the thought away. Focus. Be strong.
“My Lord, may I leave?”
Heavens! Cecily had completely forgotten that Sarita was present, watching the entire scene. Her cheeks burnt anew.
“Oh, I don’t know. I thought that perhaps you’d like to participate in our little games.”
Let her go, Cecily begged silently. Please just let her go.
“You don’t want to put these clamps on her labia? Or work this wooden phallus into her rear hole?”
This was almost too much for Cecily’s all-too-vivid imagination. Her swollen clit throbbed. Her sex muscles clenched around hungry emptiness. If either of them touches me, she thought, I’ll explode.
“My Lord, please…” Sarita sounded desperate.
“I thought I might make Miss Harrowsmith lick your cunny. Wouldn’t you like that?”
Oh my God, no! And yet a sidelong glance at the lovely courtesan almost sent Cecily over the edge.
“I am your obedient servant, sir…” the girl began.
Amir laughed and swept Sarita into his arms once more, mollifying her with an energetic kiss. “Never mind. I won’t force you do something that so clearly displeases you. Not tonight, at least!”
“Thank you, my Lord…” Sarita pressed her lips to the back of his hand in obvious relief. “I am very grateful…”
“Go then! Off to the women’s quarters with you!” He swatted her diminutive rear on her way out. “I’ll call if I want you.”
She turned upon the threshold to give him a deep bow. “As you command, my Lord. Thank you again.” The door closed behind her.
“Thank you,” murmured Cecily, her raging heartbeat starting to slow down.
“You don’t find my Sarita desirable?”Amir faced her, drawing back the curtain of her hair and fixing her with his compelling gaze.
“She’s lovely but…” Cecily was uncertain how to continue. She didn’t want to offend him unnecessarily. Her future depended on his goodwill.
“But she doesn’t seem very fond of you, does she? Well, who could blame her? All she wants is to give herself to me, body and soul, but I’ve chosen you as my companion for tonight instead.”
He lifted Cecily’s tangled locks to drape them over her shoulders. When his fingers grazed her back, tiny shivers of delight raced along her skin. His half-smile told her that he’d noticed.
“Shall we continue, then?” That question, at least, seemed rhetorical, since he disappeared without waiting for an answer.
When he returned to her field of view, he carried a cylindrical device as long as his forearm, fashioned of the same greyish metal as the robotic shackles. An oval of glass adorned one end of the tube. The other fit comfortably in his hand.
Amir brought the glass close to her bare shoulder. Something sizzled like water falling on a heated skillet, then a burning needle pierced her flesh.
Cecily jerked in her bonds, as much from surprise as from the sudden sting. “Ow!”
The air smelt sharp, metallic. Grinning, Amir let the globe hover near her upper arm. This time, she saw the spark that leapt from the glass to her tingling skin.
“What in heaven…?”
“A little invention of mine, adapting the principles of our stun guns, which I believe you’ve seen, to more pleasurable purposes.” Another bolt crackled across the gap between the device and her naked flesh. Yes, the shock hurt, but now that she’d got over her surprise, she found the prickling sensation that followed quite enjoyable.
“Of course, the effects are more dramatic when my electrostimulator is applied to more, um, sensitive areas. And if you know anything about electricity, you’ll understand that moisture enhances conductivity, intensifying the sensations considerably.”
“You can’t mean…?” Cecily shuddered at what he was implying, even as her juices welled up and trickled down her thighs.
* * * *
Rajasthani Moon is very much tongue in cheek (as well as elsewhere…). My short stories tend to be more realistic and perhaps more serious. Here’s a bit from “Limits: A Love Story”, published in the first volume of my D&S Duos series.
He’s the sadist in our relationship. But I’m the one who’s more extreme.
He wanted to strap a butterfly vibe to my clit, to ramp up my arousal so I could better bear the pain.
Does he really believe I could be more aroused than I already am?
I’m immobilized in one of our dinette chairs. Leather cuffs secure my wrists and ankles. Woven straps encircle my thighs, my upper arms, my waist and torso. The first rasp of separating Velcro liquefied me. No, that’s not right. I’ve been soaked since I served him dinner and he informed me, ever so casually, that tonight was the night.
He putters around the kitchen, drawing out the preparations, making me wait. My Master possesses an instinctive sense of timing—an asset for any Dom. He plays every action for greatest effect. The goose necked lamp from my desk has already been plugged in, ready to dispel any shadows.
Spreading a clean towel on the breakfast bar beside my chair, he lays out his materials and implements, one at a time: latex gloves, a cigarette lighter, rubbing alcohol, cotton balls, betadine, gauze, surgical tape, and finally, two gleaming, silvery scalpels. The steel flashes under the fluorescent lights, impossibly sharp. A shudder ripples through my bound body, half terror, half lust. My juices pool under my bare ass.
He cups my chin in his palm and raises my face to his. His lips curve into a half smile. I know from his eager inhalation that he’s caught my pussy scent. My cheeks burn, but he won’t let me look away.
“Are you all right, Becca?” His voice makes me think of polished mahogany and warm honey, dark, rich and sweet beyond measure. He could order me to do anything in that voice and I’d rush to obey. “Still want to go ahead?”
Shame and desire battle inside me. No matter how many scenes we play, I’m always appalled by my own perversity. I swallow hard, unable to force the words out. How can I want this? How can I admit that I do?
“Answer me, slut!” With his free hand he gives a vicious twist to my right nipple. It’s still swollen and tender from the clamps he made me wear through dinner. A bolt of pain arcs from the abused nub down to my engorged clit, transmuting to electric pleasure along the way.
“Ow! Oh…!” He slides a finger along the wet slit between my splayed thighs, then snatches it away. I jerk against the straps, trying to follow his retreat. “Oh, please…” When he licks off my juices, I nearly come at the sight of his tongue, nimble and delicate as a cat’s.
“You’re certainly wet enough to make me believe this is what you want. But you know the rules, Becca. You’ve got to ask for it.”
He’s almost a foot taller than I am. Normally he looms over me, his massive physicality reinforcing his psychological power, but now he sinks into a crouch, his gaze level with mine. “You can still call this off,” he tells me, his voice deep and calm as a waveless lake. “I won’t punish you. I won’t think less of you. You’ll still belong to me.”
Something flickers in his chocolate-brown eyes, the merest hint of doubt. I notice a faint sheen of perspiration on his forehead, below the tangled black curls. He’s wearing a rubberized apron—the implications making me shiver—so I can’t see his crotch. Is he as turned on as I am? And as frightened?
“Do you want to do it?” I whisper, forgetting to add an honorific, breaking out of the scene in my concern for him. There’s an ache in my chest, a low-frequency, bitter-edged pain quite unlike the bite of his clamps or the sting of his lash. If he’s not sure, how can I be? Have I forced this on him? Long ago he seduced me with his tales of handcuffs and spankings. Now I realize he created a monster.
* * * *
To mix things up, here’s a lusty snippet from “Rush Hour”, one of the stories in my lesbian erotica collection Her Own Devices:
“Here you are, lady. 32nd and Lexington.” Through the streaming windshield I recognized my condo building.
“Thank you so much.” I handed the driver a twenty and a ten. “Please take this young lady wherever she wants to go. This should cover it.”
“You don’t have to…” Mina began.
“But I want to. To apologize for acting so boorish before.” I waited for Mina to step out of the cab so that I could follow. She just sat there. “Have a good rehearsal,” I hinted, but she didn’t budge.
“I was wondering whether maybe I could come up to your place.” Mina spoke finally. “To clean up a bit, I mean. Maybe put some ice on this lump.”
“Of course. I’m so sorry! I should have thought of that. Please, do come.”
“Are you ladies going to get out, or what? I haven’t got all day.”
I snatched back the ten. “Keep the change,” I growled at the driver. “Let’s go,” I told Mina. We made a mad dash for the canopied entrance.
“Good evening, Derrick.”
My doorman raised a skeptical eyebrow when he saw Mina’s wet, ratty figure. “Good evening, Ms. Gladstone.” His voice held a nicely calculated hint of scorn. No one is more sensitive to the social nuances than a Manhattan doorman. I ignored him, shepherding Mina into the elevator.
The mirrors in the lift revealed two very bedraggled women. Mina’s mascara had run. Her eyes were huge and dark like some Japanese cartoon character. Her soaked sweater hung limply from her shoulders. Her black stockings were laddered with multiple runs, though for all I knew that might be a deliberate part of her costume.
As for me, my two-hundred-dollar haircut was plastered to my forehead in rust-colored tangles. Oily splashes reached to the knees of my beige linen trousers and there was a smear of mud on my cheek. My leather briefcase and purse looked like they had leprosy.
Laughter bubbled up in my chest. I looked so silly. I knew that it was quarter to seven but all at once it didn’t seem to matter.
And Mina? To me, at that moment, she was simply beautiful.
I grabbed her shoulders and pulled her body against mine. I was at least half a head taller than the Goth girl. She tilted her chin up, offering her wine-colored lips. I fastened on them as though I were dying of thirst.
Her mouth was firm, elastic, muscular. I was the aggressor at first, but that didn’t last. Before long she was working her lips against mine, sucking my tongue into her mouth, probing with her own. Her fierce energy overwhelmed me. I let go and allowed her to take what she wanted. As her hands slipped under my jacket to massage my breasts, I remembered the security cameras. A fresh deluge of kisses washed the thought from my mind.
We toppled out of the elevator, groping each other, and stumbled down the hall to my door. I couldn’t manage to unlock it. Mina kept twisting my nipples. I couldn’t hold the key steady.
Finally, we were inside. I pushed her against the wall, taking control. My knee rose between her legs until she was forced to stand on tiptoe. I bent to her throat and licked my way down into her cleavage, finally tasting the pale flesh that had tantalized me in the cab. Meanwhile, I pressed my thigh into her pussy, enjoying her frantic little mews of pleasure.
I was surprised at how swiftly her juices soaked through my suit pants. I slipped my hand under her skirt. I met only damp hair and slippery flesh. “You slutty little thing,” I murmured in her ear. “Do you always go without panties?” She only moaned as my fingers slid into her sex.
I stroked blindly, learning by feel alone her shape and her folds. When my thumb found her clit, she jumped and squealed, then rubbed furiously against me. Jackpot. With my other hand, I pulled up her jersey. She wore no bra, either.
Her lewd daring inflamed me. My own pussy throbbed each time I invaded hers. I sucked on one cherry-hued nipple while tweaking the other. She humped my hand, reaching desperately for her climax.
She hung on the edge, her clit like a hot coal, her juices streaming down my wrist, but I couldn’t seem to nudge her over. We paused for breath. She slumped against the wall, seeming discouraged. I kissed her ripe, purple lips. “Relax, sweetie. Let me take care of you.”
Slipping to my knees in front of her, I raised her skirt to her waist. A wild black tangle hid her pussy lips. Her tidal aroma filled my nostrils. I breathed deeply. I had not tasted a woman for more than a year. Not since Liza left…
Long-denied lust seized me. I peeled open her pussy and fastened my mouth on her glistening flesh. I scoured her folds with my tongue. I sucked her clit into a tiny pillar of stone, then stroked it with broad, flat strokes until it quivered under my lips. Holding her hips, I devoured her, while she bucked and writhed and finally convulsed around my face in an orgasm that nearly drowned me.
* * * *
I could go on, but you might (just might!) have better things to do than savor the fruits of my smutty imagination. If you want more, visit my website at lisabetsarai.com, where you’ll find covers and excerpts from all my published work plus more than fifty free erotic stories and poems. You might also want to check out my Amazon author page or my Goodreads page (friend me!). I post regularly—and host fantastic guests and giveaways—at my blog Beyond Romance. And speaking of giveaways, every month I hold an exclusive contest, just for members of my VIP email list. If you’d like to join, send me an email here.
I want to thank Cara for having me. (Ah…I don’t mean it that way. Though she’s so gorgeous I wouldn’t object…!) I hope I’ve stimulated (um…) your curiosity enough that you’ll check out some of my books or get in touch with me. I love to hear from readers!
Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.