connecting the dots by editing & writing erotica
I am sharing with you this week, something sexy…but not so much of a mystery!!! This is an excerpt of my story, “Tools.”
‘You deserve a lot of things…’ Claude practically whispered.
They looked at each other, and Angelica moved back into the room. Claude followed her, and kicked the door closed behind him.
Angelica groaned when he backed her up against the edge of the bed. She fell onto it, her arms swinging up and pushing her massager further up the bed by the pillow. Claude knelt on the bed to take off his tool belt, before he straddled her.
‘Do you want to play?’ He asked, looking down at her.
You can read the rest of “Tools,” here.
You can read more sexy mysteries here.
Now we all know that Oleander Plume is a brilliant writer, and if you follow my blog you know she is a also a brilliant designer. I searched my blog for her, and she is EVERYWHERE!!! If it is not a brilliant story, it is designing the logos for my other two blogs. I asked her to talk about her designing side in the latest issue of my newsletter, which you can sign up for here. Below, I want you to be “zazzled” by her!!! Go on, read you know you want to be zazzled!!!
Shortly after Christmas, my daughter Quinn and I had a conversation that changed my life. It went something like this:
Q: You know, there are no decent online stores to find a writer gift.
O: Really? I would think there would be at least one.
Q: I found a few, but they were, how should I put it, lame as fuck.
I sat up straight in my chair. Lame gifts for writers? This could not stand! We writers work hard, and we deserve non-mediocre gifts, damn it!
O: I’m going to do something about this, Quinn! As God as my witness, I will create awesome merchandise for writers!
Q: (now watching TV) What? Did you say something?
Okay, so I exaggerated, the conversation didn’t change my life, but it did spark an idea. A crazy idea inspired by goofiness and whiskey. A store! An online store, featuring my own designs on all types of merchandise! Hells to the yes!
Now, I’d messed around with a store before, but the format was ridiculously non-user-friendly and I became stymied by confusion, so it languished. Hoping for better, I sprinted to the Google machine and did some research.
And then I had a drink.
There are a lot of online merchants who will allow you to design and sell merchandise. I picked Zazzle for its ease of use, and aesthetically pleasing layout. I’m not going to lie, putting it together was a challenge, but when you want something bad enough, you’re going to make it happen. And so:
Pretty Poison Graphics online Zazzle store was born!
Some products are geared toward writers of the erotic and non-erotic variety, but I didn’t stop there – oh no! I wanted everyone to be able to join the party, so I created “Naughty things for naughty people,” instead.
People. All people. I like to think of my graphics as “Uni-Sexy!” Take one of my coffee mug designs for example:
Maybe you’re not into men. For you, there’s another version:
Incidentally, each design is also available in pink. Because maybe blue is not your thing. Point is, I want to create fun and unique items for everyone. Even you non-writers! But, if you do write, there are plenty of designs that might appeal to your author palette. For example:
Does this mean I’m giving up writing? No way! More likely, I’ll give up sleeping. *fills a dozen coffee mugs* There are literally hundreds of ideas stabbing my brain with tiny forks, so keep checking back for new merchandise, including t-shirts, underwear (yes, you will be able to get in my panties, ha!), and laptop sleeves. (And stuff with cats. Love those cats.)
(Yes, that is my kitty, Mr. Jingles. The dude is eating me out of house and home, he has to earn his keep somehow!)
Hey, while I’m thinking of it, would you like to be moderately famous? If you order one of my items and take a photo of yourself wearing/using/breaking it with a sledge hammer, I will feature you on my blog, and my store! I will also love you forever and ever and ever…
Here’s a link: http://www.zazzle.com/prettypoisongraphics – happy shopping!
Thanks for having me, F. Leonora, and thanks for reading, you person behind the laptop, tablet or phone. Have a fantastic Friday!
Love, Oleander xox
Rafe watched Eliza lift her foot up to take off her Louboutins. He stared at the red blur beneath her ass, and he walked up behind her. She almost lost her balance, but he held her arms.
Standing impressively on one foot, she leaned into him.
She knew he had her.
He looked at her face in the mirror. Her sheer bralette was like she was not wearing a bra at all, and he saw her nipples were hard. She put her foot down, and stepped on his foot which he barely felt as he unsnapped her bra. The cups of her bra rolled up, and her breasts were exposed underneath.
Rafe had wanted to fuck her for a very long time, and now he was about to. He wanted her because she was his. He wanted her because she was amazing to him.
He would have had sex with her in the lingerie shop, if she had not walked out and saw Margaux. It was odd to see Margaux in that place while he was having an amorous afternoon with Eliza. But he did like seeing the two of them together, especially with Eliza being so gracious.
Gracious in a way that he had not been able to return the favor. At least not with Oscar…
Just thinking about Oscar, made him cup Eliza’s breast with fierce possession. It was not like he owned her, but it was like if she was his for the moment he had to seize her.
Eliza reached behind her, and grabbed his thighs. He stumbled on her heels as he walked her to the full-length mirror, his palm still cupping her breast and kissed her neck. Thinking about Oscar kissing her there—or anywhere—made him suck on the soft skin of her neck.
Rafe wished that he did not feel so possessive about her, that he could practice the same hospitality and graciousness that Eliza had when she was with Margaux. But it was hard for him to do so. He kissed her neck, and then met her eyes in the mirror. Eliza kicked the shoe that she had kicked toward the mirror, and pressed her hands on the glass. She had not put her panties on since they had been in the store. Her thighs were wet and quivered with a matching need for him, as he moved his fingers back and forth between her legs. She rode his fingers as he did, until he could not wait anymore for her.
To be inside her.
He never stopped looking at her, as he pounded in and out of her. Eliza liked it rough, and he could not be anything but rough now because he was so desperate for her. So desperate to keep a connection with her.
Neither of them stopped looking at the other as they came undone. Eliza pounded the glass so hard, he was afraid that she would break it. Rafe reached for her hand, and that simple touch made her shake with desire. She gasped for breath while looking at him, until she slacked and pressed her cheek to the glass.
They stayed like that for a long time, until Rafe touched the glass above her hands. Eliza straightened. Her breasts swayed and her skirt was up over her hips, as she bent to pick up her shoes and put them where they belonged…
More Wicked Wednesday here:
louboutins via wikipedia
Photo courtesy of Marie Opens Up
The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #80? Start with the rules, come back March 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!
Midweek Fantasizing – The Portrait
*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
Marionette
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!
A kiss is just a kiss
Turning Corners
Another Day, Another Planned Parenthood Visit
My first vanilla date
Want, Need the Power of your Masculinity!
I don’t know how to date.
Soft Lips
The Introduction
Erotic Fiction: “Words”
Darkness and the Rose
Taste
THE SESSION THAT WENT WRONG
Be Careful What You Wish For
Motivation
porn
The Tube
For You, It’s Always Yes
Gawan: Intro to Flogging
The Talker: An Introduction
My wildest fantasy: Ship slut
Marionette
Time for something quick…
Spread Legs and Open Mouth
My Girl in Havana
Let’s Watch some Porn
An Artist’s Story: Tails and Portholes
Sleeping With Our Future President
To Dude Who Was Offended By Lack of Escort
Try Love, Not Anger
Risky Sex
Why Cosmo is the worst (again!)
Condoms: fictional contraceptive of choice
Writing Fat Characters In Erotica
Masochistic Mastermind
Take me to where I need to be.
Nichy did not have anything to hide about the nights that she had shared with Renee, but she was not expecting how obvious it would be to other people. At work, even though Renee promised she had not told Tyler…he suspected something was up.
“What is it with you girls?” he questioned.
Renee smiled at her, and Nichy licked her lips.
“What?” Renee asked, as he looked between the two of them. His eyes lingered over their practically conjoined closeness at the cafe where they had lunch.
Nichy looked down, not understanding how she had gone from zero to infinity sex-wise. She missed Gavin, but outside of a committed relationship, she felt like the world was her oyster.
Tyler continued to study them throughout lunch, but she and Renee just smiled.
Practically on fire, Nichy went to the ladies room not long after she got back to the office and unlike with Gavin, Renee could come with her. Literally.
In the bathroom, they took turns playing with each other. Renee pulled up her dress–she never wore underwear–and Nichy kissed her as she played with Renee’s clit. At the same time, she watched Renee’s ass reflected in the bathroom mirror. Suddenly, there was a click at the bathroom door, Renee pulled down her dress but not before Nichy gave her a smart spank.
“I will take care of you later…” Renee mouthed in the bathroom mirror, and Nichy read her lips perfectly.
Renee’s apartment was like a retro opium den. Its decor was of the most sumptuous and decadent colors and fabrics, and it had the warm scent of patchouli. And a sweet musk that Nichy was not sure of it was from the candle, or Renee.
Nichy twisted practically half off of the bed when Renee ate her out. It was worth it not to have come at work, so she could be that much more made to get off. Renee slapped her backside, and grabbed her hips to make her stop squirming off of the bed.
But Nichy could not help herself.
The doorbell buzzed.
Renee thought it was the food she had ordered, no cooking with of them so down to fuck that they did not even wait before getting in bed. But it was Tyler.
“Can I come up?”
“Sure,” Renee looked at Nichy. “Nichy is here.”
The women scrambled to put themselves together before he came up.
When Tyler opened the door, he smiled. He put his finger on Renee’s bare stomach.
“You missed a button…”
Renee shrugged nonchalantly,
“Thanks.”
“You’re fucking!” Tyler exclaimed, instead of you’re welcome. He looked at Renee, but even longer at Nichy.
They said nothing as they let him in, and they all sat on the couch. Nichy’s body was still fevered with Renee’s touch, and when Tyler put his hand on Renee’s thigh she remembered seeing them in the bathroom stall.
“Since when?” he asked, looking at Renee’s thigh.
“Since when you do keep tabs on me?” Renee asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I don’t babe, but you know I wanted to share this one…” He raised an eyebrow at Nichy. “Would you want to Nichy? I mean I came over her because I missed Renee, but double my pleasure you are both here! Can I watch maybe?”
Nichy put her hand on Renee’s thigh.
“Once I saw you and Renee in the bathroom stall, and I watched.” Nichy admitted sheepishly.
“You watched us?” Renee asked, turning to look at her.
Nichy nodded.
“And?” Tyler asked.
“It was really hot.”
Without any staging, or any directions, Nichy moved her hand up Renee’s thigh and kissed her. Tyler, looking polished in his suit, leaned back on the couch and loosened his tie. Renee pulled her dress up over her head, and naked, she undressed Nichy. Tangled together in a kiss, Tyler unbuckled his belt and removed his cufflinks. He coughed, and Nichy liked how he seemed nervous about how to proceed. She let her foot caress his thigh, as she straddled Renee.
“Would you like to join us?” she purred coquettishly.
Tyler nodded as he took off everything but his pants. That he did slowly like a striptease artist. Nichy gasped when she saw him completely naked, because she had never seen him naked before. He was beautiful, and she took his hand. He pushed her up against the wall, and pulled her hair like some sort of bondage hair holding as he kissed her. Nichy nearly swooned. He did not need to be coaxed anymore, he pulled her against him and her arms went about him.
In Renee’s bed that looked like something out of a harem, the scent of their encounter still rampant in the bedroom, Tyler offered them bits of filth like candy. They were all salivating for the primal intimacy their bodies were perfumed with. In a heaving heap of bodies, everyone of her holes ruminating with use and still…
Nichy wanted more as she caressed her breasts, and Tyler’s side.
More Masturbation Monday here:
More Kink of the Week here:
More Sexy Searching here:
photo of brassai threesome taken by f dot leonora
I am so happy to be the Valentine’s Day leg of The Gazillionaire and the Virgin tour for The Gazillionaire and the Virgin!!! With this novel, Lisabet turns everything you imagine on its head. This story has so much more to it than meets the eye, as I will let her explain. As well, there is a decadent excerpt–hello suit fetish!!!–and a contest! Lisabet will take over from here…
I only pretend to be a good girl.
On the surface, I do everything required to satisfy people’s expectations. I pay my taxes. I meet my deadlines. I stop at red lights. I say “please” and “excuse me”, even to the most boorish people. I write thank you notes when I receive a gift. I want people to consider me a useful, productive, conformist member of society.
It’s all an act. In fact, I revel in subversion.
What good girl would pen filthy books like mine? Even writing erotic romance, I’m always pushing the envelope. I make my editors squirm. Superficially I follow the rules, but I’ll bend them so far they come close to breaking. Tell me a particular genre doesn’t allow certain content and I’ll try like the devil to slip it in. I’m not even aware of this, much of the time. The imp of the perverse has a powerful hold on my subconscious.
My new novel The Gazillionaire and the Virgin may be the most subversive tale I’ve created. On the surface, it follows all the rules of romance. It focuses on the development of a serious love relationship between the main characters. As is common in romance, they irritate one another during their initial meeting, but are still inexplicably attracted. They end up having sex, without really planning to do so, then gradually fall in love. Obstacles appear, both internal and external, and they break up. The conflict is resolved and they live happily ever after.
Think you’ve read this book a million times before? Think again.
The hero isn’t a strong, self-confident, muscled hunk who can make a woman come twelve times without even entering her. Instead, he’s a brilliant but socially awkward agoraphobic with a touch of OCD, inclined to anxiety attacks. Oh, and he’s a twenty-nine year old virgin. He’s not the gazillionaire, either—it’s the heroine who has all the cash. She’s bossy and ambitious, unfashionably curvy, with curly red hair that’s always a mess. Despite her assertiveness, she’s sexually submissive, though no one in her life knows this.
The hero’s a Dom—a virgin Dom at the start of the book, but with a lot of porn and internet research to draw on, not to mention his vivid fantasies. The heroine thinks she’s too busy for more than casual sex. As you might expect (I don’t want to totally trash every expectation) the hero changes her mind.
Blurb
Silicon Valley entrepreneur Rachel Zelinsky is not a woman who lets pleasure interfere with business, but when she meets reclusive genius Theo Moore, she can’t resist his geeky appeal. Though Theo’s knowledge about sex derives from extensive research and a stash of kinky porn rather than real-world experience, he is Rachel’s first true Master—and the first man to truly touch her heart.
“I’ve always been a fan—Lisabet Sarai’s erotic fiction is certain to captivate, dominate, and leave readers begging for more.” ~ Alison Tyler, best-selling author of erotic BDSM memoirs Dark Secret Love and Even Deeper.
Excerpt
I decide to drive myself, and choose the BMW for its aura of unobtrusive luxury. One look at my red Lamborghini, I suspect, and Theo Moore would run away screaming. Cruising up to his attractive but unremarkable building at exactly six, I pull into one of the parking spots labeled “Visitors”. My pulse, I’m annoyed to notice, is elevated, and my cheeks feel hot. Do I look as flustered as I feel?
A quick check in the rear-view mirror reassures me. My understated make-up enlarges my eyes and shrinks my rather prominent nose. Gold-plated combs sweep my unruly curls away from my temples into a semi-elegant cascade. Matching gold earrings dangle from my earlobes almost to my bare shoulders. My strapless gown of teal satin hugs my bust and hips like it was made for me—which of course it was. I practice a confident but non-threatening smile. Good evening, Theo. I’m so glad you decided to come.
The minutes tick by, but there’s no sign of him. Should I climb up to his door and ring? Or wait for him to work up the courage to come out by himself? Does he realize I’ve arrived? Is he watching out his window? Or cowering in his room?
I get more annoyed by the second. I am considering honking the horn, which I know will embarrass him, when he appears on the second floor landing. I recognize him by his height and bulk. Otherwise, he’s transformed.
In the custom tailored tuxedo, he’s distinguished and elegant. The sleek black trousers cling to what are obviously powerful, muscular legs. The jacket highlights his broad shoulders and trim waist. Not fat, oh no! He moves with unexpected grace, as if the formal clothing bestowed a sort of gravitas to subdue his usual gawkiness. With his dark hair slicked back from his forehead, he looks like some international man of mystery. The spectacles just heighten the impression of intelligence and sophistication.
Holding the rail of the gallery that runs along the second floor, he scans the parking area.
“Over here, Theo,” I call out of the open window.
He jumps at the sound of my voice. I think he’s about to bolt, to flee back into his condo and slam the door. I can practically see the struggle going on in his body. I hold my breath, waiting for the outcome. Finally he raises his hand in a feeble wave, and fumbles his way down the stairs. The strong, self-assured man of a few moments earlier has vanished. But I remember him. That’s the Theo Moore I need to cultivate.
He makes it to the car. I press the auto-release and the door swings open. “Hi, Theo. Come on, get in. We’re running somewhat late.”
He ducks his head, folds his long limbs and maneuvers his massive body onto the leather upholstery. After fastening his seat belt, he focuses his attention on the blinking, teak-inlaid instrument panel. He neither greets me nor apologizes.
With a shrug, I trigger the ignition and back out onto the road. “You look fantastic, by the way.”
“I feel ridiculous. Like some performer in a circus. Or maybe a trained seal.”
“I’m sorry you’re uncomfortable.” I swing the car out of his complex onto El Camino Real. “In a way, I guess this is a kind of performance. The tux really looks great on you, though. You’re going to impress the donors. And that’s what’s important, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so.” He slumps into the bucket seat, sulking.
With a sigh, I address myself to the task of driving. It’s not far from Palo Alto to Mountain View, but the Saturday evening traffic is insane. Is it any wonder I prefer Santa Cruz? If Theo doesn’t feel like making conversation, that’s fine. I won’t be distracted.
A traffic light turns red just as I’m about to slide through. “Oh, damn!” I glance over at my passenger, embarrassed by my lack of patience. “Sorry. But I wanted to get there early enough to greet the first guests.”
I’m surprised to discover that Theo’s staring at me.
“You look beautiful,” he says, his voice low and earnest.
“Um—what?” I gun the engine as the light flashes green, bolting ahead of the other vehicles.
“Your hair. Your dress. The color suits you. It makes your skin look like polished ivory.”
Huh? “Ah—thank you, Theo. I guess we’ll make an attractive couple. Never hurts when you’re pitching to the beautiful people, right?” I force out a chuckle.
He does not respond. Theo Moore really doesn’t really understand the dynamics of polite conversation.
***Lisabet has a full short story about Theo and Rachel over at her blog, to celebrate the day of love. Comments on that post count as entries in the blog tour, too!
***
In short, if you like your romances predictable and similar to one another, you’ll hate this book. On the other hand, if you’re in the mood for something different, something original and irreverent, something—well, subversive—go get yourself a copy of The Gazillionaire and the Virgin!
Ebook Buy Links (Print coming soon!)
This post is part of my Gazillionaire and Virgin blog tour, running from February 1st to 15th. Leave me a comment on this post, including your email address, and I’ll enter you to win a $50 bookstore gift certificate (first prize) or a print copy of the new book (second prize). Visit all the stops for more chances to win. You’ll find the full list here:
About Lisabet
Lisabet Sarai occasionally tackles other genres, but BDSM will always be her first love. Every one of her nine novels includes some element of power exchange, while her D/s short stories range from mildly kinky to intensely perverse.
You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website, along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance, she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads and finally, on Twitter.
My sexy valentine to you is coming via me and Kinkly…it’s a little dirty and “Better Than Chocolate!”
“I like it dirty.”
“You are a dirty girl,” Russ said, smacking her bottom.
He placed her on top of the counter, and Corinne wrapped her legs around him before they kissed.
Russ stood between her legs to kiss her. Corinne wrapped her arms about his neck. He pulled up her dress, and smacked her bottom again.
“You are very dirty,” he said to her.
Corinne half swooned as he swatted her bottom while he kissed her.
You can read my entire story “Better Than Chocolate” on Kinkly!
You can get more valentines here…
1910 valentine via wikipedia
Eliza was going to make this work, because it had worked all along. It had worked before—they had worked before—she and Rafe before Margaux.
And they would work, the three of them.
She spilled champagne in her haste to get dressed in the lingerie shop and purchased the champagne-stained intimates, so they go out with Margaux. Rafe was still as an untouched meadow, and did not give any other indicators of his mood when they walked in an elegant gaggle toward the tiny bar nearby. Why act like she did not want a stronger drink?
Margaux walked next to her, and they all but held hands as if they were trying to prove they were making nice for Rafe’s sake. Rafe trailed behind them, and she was sure he like the view. Eliza was secretly smug, because Rafe’s fingers had just been so deep inside her that she had almost screamed.
As if she had not been loud enough…
“How is New York?” Eliza finally asked. If she was going to be Mrs. Stewart, she might as well start playing the hostess. Wasn’t that how they had met Margaux in the first place? Margaux’s sister Laure was always an amazing hostess.
“New York is not new to me, and I love it, but I love Paris. It is hard how to describe how it is to love two things art once…”
Margaux was silent as the mannequins in the windows of the stores they walked past suddenly. Eliza knew that was a slip of her tongue—at least she would like to believe it, was because she was trying to be the adult here in this chaste mènage á trois.
She was trying so hard, even as she was still heavy with Rafe’s touch deep inside of her.
“I love Paris too…” Eliza said, proud of her own save. “Rafe and I have been there together, and I have been there by myself as well…”
Wistful thoughts of her time in Paris with Oscar and Adrien came to her mind…Oscar…Adrien…And then she looked at Margaux, and Margaux returned her gaze tentatively. Eliza saw so much of herself in the other woman’s eyes, and nothing at all at the same time. Her fingers grazed Margaux’s, and she took her hand in hers. Finger by finger.
She was going to make this work…
More Wicked Wednesday here:
photo: Édouard Boubat, Paris, France, 1948
