Monday, 27 July 2015

Dancing with Street Team Steff - Also known as Blue Belle!

I have danced for as long as I can remember, one of my earliest memories is standing on my granddads feet and being waltzed around the kitchen to Moon River. I have done anything I can try with dance but I still have loads more I want to try. In the past I have tried disco, freestyle, street, salsa, rock and roll, ballroom, latin and then came burlesque. I was coming out of deep depression and anxiety and I wanted to do overcome it once and for all I wanted something on my own that I didn't need a partner for that would make me feel better about myself. I started looking into things offered locally that I could try. in a google search I stumbled across burlesque The instructor Lindsey called me and talked me through the art of burlesque, what I would learn and what music you can dance too.

Burlesque had me hooked from lesson one, when I started to learn more I found burlesque to be an escape. I disappeared into a vibrant world of gorgeous costumes, beautiful music and sensual moves. Burlesque has been interpreted in so many ways and each artist will describe burlesque as something different. Burlesque artists are all unique, to me burlesque is about seduction, sensuality, tease and unleashing myself. My dance instructors have always said burlesque is always performed clothed and its the audiences imagination that undresses you. Never give up everything all at once make then beg, plead and work for it.

Blue Belle was unleashed in April 2013. Blue Belle is feisty, naughty, sassy and sexy. As Blue Belle I have been able to do whatever I want on stage and not feel self conscious because its not me dancing its Blue Belle. The first to see me perform as Blue Belle were my two dance teachers Lindsay and Emma and my mum. I thought my strict catholic mother would be shocked and appalled. She loved every moment and is so proud of what I have overcome. She is always the one to see a routine before anyone else. Everyone is supportive except my dad and brother (for understandable reasons).       

Blue Belle will next be performing at Smut Manchester Saturday 24th October 2015.

Lots of Love

Steff (and Blue Belle) xxxx

p.s Please can I thank Victoria and Kev for all of their support and love xxxx 

Thursday, 23 July 2015

Why I Wrote Native Tongue by Lucy Felthouse (@cw1985)

Last year, I was involved in an M/M military boxed set called Unconditional Surrender. It did really well for the few months it was out, had great reviews and even won a Member’s Choice award over at Goodreads. I got involved in the boxed set because I like writing M/M, and I’m an absolute sucker for a military story. It turned out to be one of the most complex military stories I’ve written, because it was based in an active war zone. I’ve never been to one, and don’t intend to—but this, naturally, meant an awful lot of research was involved. Fortunately, I have an ex-army buddy who helped me out tons.

The result of the research was my novella, Desert Heat. I very much enjoyed writing it, and when it the boxed set went out of print, I put it out as a standalone book, and didn’t really think any more about it.

Until I started getting emails, and reviews, and social media messages. A lot of people had read the book as part of the boxed set, but I was delighted that even as a standalone title, I was still gaining more readers. As a standalone, the book had apparently made more impact—and these emails, reviews and social media messages were asking for a follow up. I couldn’t believe it—my characters and story had resonated with people to the extent that they were taking the time to send me messages asking for more.

So, always eager to please, I started planning. I’d never thought I’d write about the characters again, so I went back and re-read Desert Heat to refresh my memory and ensure consistency, then I started thinking about what should happen next. I decided a big jump forward, time-wise, was the best course of action, so I brought them over to England, where Rustam Balkhi would continue his medical degree, and Hugh Wilkes would return to his more usual army life—i.e. not currently deployed.

But then... what would actually happen? Could I write an interesting follow up, considering the first book was in a volatile environment with lots of angst, sneaking around and illicit sex? Fortunately, I found I could. I don’t want to say too much and give the game away, but let’s just say Native Tongue, though it’s got an utterly different setting to the first book, still has plenty of hurdles for the characters to leap, some angst, some drama... but of course there’s still smokin’ hot sex. Hotter, in a way, than the first book, I think.

For saying I never expected to write about these boys again, I found I really enjoyed the process—getting to know them again, expanding them, developing their relationship. It genuinely was a joy, and I was actually kind of sad to say goodbye to them at the end of Native Tongue, which is also novella-length, but about 10k longer than the first book.

I was nervous about what readers would think, given how much they’d anticipated the follow up, but thankfully, it had great feedback from my beta readers, and so far reviews have been favourable. It’s sold really well, with the standalone version and the book bundle I did with both books charting on Amazon, so a big sigh of relief and lots of happy dancing from me ;)

So, I’ll end with a word of thanks to those of you that took the time to encourage me to write a follow up story for the boys. I’m very fond of them, and am very pleased that you are too.

Happy Reading!

Lucy x


When the door had been closed behind them, there were a couple more seconds where they didn’t speak. Wilkes took the opportunity to put his bag down, then turned to Balkhi.
“Hi,” he said, taking a step closer.
“Thank fuck you live alone.” At that, Wilkes fully closed the gap between them, put his hands on Balkhi’s shoulders and pushed him roughly against the door.
Letting out a squeak of surprise, Balkhi’s eyes widened.
Wilkes didn’t stop to look into them. Instead, he moulded his body against his lover’s, cupped his face and moved in for a kiss. The first kiss, the first physical contact of any kind that they’d had in weeks, and it was obvious how much they both needed it. Balkhi’s mouth opened immediately to admit Wilkes’ tongue, and he wallowed in all the emotions coursing through him; lust, need, relief... Delicious sensations followed; the scratch of Balkhi’s goatee against Wilkes’ clean-shaven face, the heat of Balkhi’s mouth, the swirl and thrust of his tongue, the press of his erection against Wilkes’ own.
Fucking hell, I’ve missed this.
It occurred to him that really, he hadn’t missed it per se, because the two of them had never had it quite like this before. Always, without exception, they’d been worried about being discovered. They’d never had true privacy, never had the luxury of being together without looking over their shoulders, or at the very least, being conscious of making too much noise. God, this was almost going to be like their first time all over again. They’d be able to let go completely. Wilkes had a feeling it was going to be utterly mind-blowing.
Despite this, he was determined not to rush things. Yes, he wanted nothing more than for the two of them to get naked and horizontal, then hot and sweaty, but he also wanted for them to take their time. To tease, to torment, to explore each other’s bodies in minute detail. Technically, they’d been having sex for months, but certainly not as frequently as they’d have liked, and the vast majority of the times they’d been together had been snatched, rushed moments. This time, it would be different.
Enjoying their smouldering kiss for a little while longer, Wilkes basked in the anticipation of what was to come. His cock felt fit to burst, but he tried to put it out of his mind. They had two whole days to enjoy each other—that was lots and lots of hours, though it would never be enough. He’d brought plenty of condoms and lube with him, too.
The possibilities were endless. He grinned against Balkhi’s mouth.
Balkhi pulled away, a quizzical expression on his face. “What are you smiling at, Hugh?”
Raising his eyebrows, Wilkes replied, “You really have to ask? I’m here, you’re here. More importantly, no one else is here. We’re together, we have privacy for the first time ever, and I’ve really fucking missed you! Really really missed you.” That last part was growled more than spoken, and Wilkes was gratified when Balkhi gulped, then gave a shy smile.
“I have missed you, too. It seems like such a long time since we last saw each other.”



They may be back on British soil, but the battle isn’t over.

When Captain Hugh Wilkes fell for his Afghan interpreter, Rustam Balkhi, he always knew things would never be easy. After months of complete secrecy, their return to England should have spelt an end to the sneaking around and the insane risks. But it seems there are many obstacles for them to overcome before they can truly be happy together. Can they get past those obstacles, or is this one battle too many for their fledgling relationship?

**For those of you that haven’t yet read Desert Heat (which is recommended before picking up this book), there’s a great value two book bundle available exclusively on Amazon, and is in the Kindle Unlimited programme: **


Author Bio:

Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over 100 publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include several editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women's Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house. She owns Erotica For All, is book editor for Cliterati, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more at Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at:

Monday, 20 July 2015

The Truth in Fiction by Bibi Paterson (@bibipaterson) #erotica #romance #bdsm

As I handed over a copy of my latest novel, Tied to You, to a friend last week she asked me the question that seems to come with the territory of writing erotic romance:

“So how much of this is about you?”

I was quick to reassure her that it was all fiction, a product of a very overactive imagination, but I have to confess that I was telling a little white lie. Because at the end of the day, no matter how much of a story comes from our imagination, there are always elements of ourselves imbedded into the narrative.

The reason for the white lie then? Well, I am sure my nearest and dearest don’t really want me to admit to what I get up to in the bedroom with the Hubby, even if he is always happy to participate in a little ‘research’, and most importantly of all there are simply things that I like to keep private.

No matter how much I keep to myself though, I do find it seeping into my writing. When I wrote my first novel, Thirty Days Have September, I was feeling adrift following a sudden move from Australia back to the UK. While I might have been pretending to everyone in my ‘real’ life that everything was okay, my main character’s depression and feelings of abandonment very much echoed how I was feeling at the time. I never I intended to write it that way, but as the words flowed out of me it seemed like so many things from my subconscious found its way into the story.

While I am very upfront about who I am as a person and the fact that I write what I write, I am still careful about how I am perceived, hence the need for some ‘creative’ truths.  So when people ask me that question I am quick to tell them how marvellous Google is. I might be avoiding the truth but at the end of the day we are all entitled to a few secrets.


“We’re leaving,” Alex states in a tone that brooks no argument. I merely nod in reply and let him lead me to the cloakroom to fetch my wrap, and then we are sitting in the car, being driven home. The tension between us is thick, yet neither of us has said a word. I glance up at Alex under my eyelashes and see his jaw clenched and an expression that I can’t fathom in his eyes. Every fibre of my being is hyper-aware of Alex’s masculinity, and a dull throb sits between my legs. I squirm in my seat, trying to find a little relief, when suddenly I am aware of Alex’s scrutiny. His eyes bore through me, yet the expression on his face remains a neutral mask. A smirk appears as he runs his eyes over my body and I find my nipples hardening under my dress.

We have no sooner pulled up in front of the house than Alex is pulling me from the car and into the house. The door slams shut behind us and for a moment we both just look at each other, lost in the inevitable. And then Alex speaks. “Turn around, Olivia.” The command is issued in a low, gravelly voice, completely at odds with Alex’s regular teasing tone. The use of my full name startles me, and before I can think further, my body is already obeying. I stand still, my eyes staring up the stairs, as we stand in the frigid hallway, and I wait with bated breath. A few moments pass and all I can hear is our breathing.

Suddenly I am aware of Alex’s arms coming over my shoulders and unhooking the cape at my throat. It slithers to the floor, and for a heartbeat, the world stops spinning on its axis. I shiver as I feel Alex’s warm breath on my neck as, ever so slowly, he pulls down the zip of my gown. “Put your arms out and hold on to the end of the bannister,” he instructs gruffly. I comply without rational thought, quietly awaiting his next command. The single movement has my dress pooling at my feet as I lean forward to grip the smooth wooden post. Large, agile hands skim down my sides until they rest on my hips and I am very much aware that my arse is now in the air, the angle of my body on my heels offering direct access to my damp, aching pussy. The hands follow a leisurely pace down the backs of my thighs and calves, until they reach my ankles. “Lift your foot and then the other,” Alex orders. I comply and he pulls the dress out from around my feet, discarding it in a heap by the front door.

I glance back down at Alex, but immediately he notices. “Eyes forward,” he barks, and I whip my head back around, my heart thumping in my ears. The cold of the hallway has raised goose bumps over my skin and I am shivering ever so slightly. I feel Alex stand behind me, heat radiating from his frame making the cold more tolerable, and then I hear him shedding his own clothes. My body is feeling ultra-sensitive, and the moment his hand snakes around my waist and deft fingers find my clit, I let out a low groan, as the warmth starts to spread across my pelvis. His pelvis pushes into my arse and I can feel the huge length of him grinding between my butt cheeks. Suddenly, Alex’s other hand is grabbing my breast, pulling it from the confines of my strapless bra and, almost painfully, squeezing my nipple. Teeth nip at my ear and neck as he forces my head back, my back arching as I try to maintain my balance.

“I don’t make love,” Alex hisses into my ear. “I fuck, I root, I shag…but I don’t do soft and I don’t do sweet. Do you understand, Olivia?” I nod my head, a thousand conflicting thoughts swirling around my head. “If you want this to stop, you need to say so now…” he trails off and waits for my answer. My brain is telling me that this is all a bit weird, that this is not what I want, but my treacherous body has other ideas and so I keep silent.

Pinterest board                      

Tied to You (Book blurb)

What happens when you hit rock bottom and can’t see a way out? Do you take the handsome stranger’s indecent proposal that seems too good to be true?

In a word, yes.

Desperation will make you do crazy things, like giving up a year of your life and travelling halfway around the world to marry a gorgeous Aussie winemaker who seems to come with more baggage than he knows what to do with.

I know I should keep my distance but there is something about him that just draws me in. Maybe it is the way he always seems to be there for me when I need it most, or that he just seems to know the right thing to say.

All I know is that the moment he kisses me on our wedding day, I am in trouble.

Wealthy and arrogant, Alex is used to getting whatever he wants and he has set his eyes on Olivia. For months he has watched her as she calls out to every protective instinct he possesses. Waiting for the perfect opportunity to present itself, he is determined to make her his, in any way possible.

But Alex is hiding a secret, one that he is determined to protect until, one day, Olivia makes a revelation that sets her on a course of self-discovery. Together they explore Olivia’s submissive side, pushing boundaries and taking her on the wildest ride of her life. However, when Olivia’s past threatens to expose Alex’s secret, the true strength behind Alex and Olivia’s relationship is revealed.

Buy links:

Author Bio:

British author Bibi was born in South Africa and loves to travel. She has previously spent a year living it up on the beaches of Western Australia and her hobbies include consuming copious amounts of coffee and chocolate, building cardboard castles with her daughter and creating stories in her head.
Inspired from a young age, her love for literature started with Enid Blyton and her Secret Seven. Since then a voracious appetite for books has brought her a world full of heroes, love, murder, betrayal and the odd vampire thrown in for good cause.

Having long admired those brave enough to put pen to paper, or in this modern age of computing, keyboard to screen, she has finally started telling the sexy stories that she has been keeping locked up in her head all this time.

Monday, 13 July 2015

Special Guest Elizabeth Coldwell: Vintage Pride – A Romance With Real Fizz

Hi, Brit Babes, and thanks very much for inviting me over to your fabulous website to talk about my work. I’d like to share some of the inspiration behind my male/paranormal romance novel, Vintage Pride. This is book three in the Lionhearts series from Totally Bound, which features lion shifters who discover their destined mate is human, even though that goes against everything they’ve been brought up to believe. Writing the books has given me the opportunity to set each story in a different part of the world, and the location for Vintage Pride is the Champagne region of France. It’s an area I visited many years ago on a school trip. We were given a tour around one of the smaller Champagne producers in the town of Epernay, which is home to some very well-known names including Moët et Chandon and Piper-Heidsieck. Of course, this was probably just an excuse for our teachers to sample their wares and stock up on a few bottles to take home, and I think they’d be pretty surprised to learn the visit would end up providing me with the starting point for a very steamy novel.

What makes Champagne (and other sparkling wines like cava and prosecco) special is that it effervesces. There are references to bubbles in wine on Egyptian papyruses, but it took a long time for people to understand what caused that reaction, and how to guarantee that it would happen every time. Not to get too technical (I’ll leave that to Marcus in Vintage Pride, who is very proud of the Champagne produced at the Château LeBlanc), it’s a result of the wine fermenting a second time in the bottle, after a certain amount of sugar has been added. In the course of my research for the book, I got to expand my own knowledge of the winemaking process and discover why only wine which comes from that one very specific region can officially be called Champagne. I also learned how, thanks to clever marketing at the turn of the Twentieth century, Champagne became irresistibly connected with parties, special moments in life like birthdays and weddings and, of course, romance. Plenty of this information found its way into the story. Indeed, there’s a scene in Vintage Pride where Jean-Luc and Ethan enjoy a bottle of Chateau LeBlanc’s finest and some juicy strawberries as a prelude to some very hot sex, which was great fun to write.

With gorgeous men who can turn into lions, a paranormal investigation team on the hunt for ghosts and the secret of some lost and very valuable paintings waiting to be uncovered, Vintage Pride has both mystery and romance at its heart. But most of all, it has fizz… Cheers!

About Vintage Pride

Blurb: He doesn’t believe in the paranormal. Can a gorgeous shifter prove him wrong?

Ethan Wayne is a paranormal investigator for the hottest reality show on TV, Spirit Seekers, but his love life is decidedly lukewarm. Reeling from a sudden break-up, he finds himself heading for France, where his team will be exploring the Château LeBlanc, searching for the ghost of a murdered kitchen maid. When he meets the château’s reclusive owner, Jean-Luc LeBlanc, the attraction is fierce and instant—but Jean-Luc is keeping secrets the skeptical Ethan could never have imagined.

Jean-Luc’s world collapsed with the death of his beloved Benoît. He no longer cares about producing his award-winning Champagne and even his closest family members can’t rouse him from his self-imposed solitude. The last thing he wants is a team of ghost hunters intruding on his privacy and discovering the truth of his nature. The realization that one of these brash Americans is destined to be his new mate seems like a sick joke. But soon Jean-Luc has bigger things to worry about than his distrust of humans. His home and family are under threat—can he do what it takes to save all he holds dear, and let Ethan into his heart in the process?

Excerpt: Stepping into the room only heightened his sense of being in some Baroque fairy tale. Its only concessions to the twenty-first century were the sleek iMac on Jean-Luc’s desk and an expensive-looking telescope that had been placed by the window. Every other item of furniture appeared as though it had been there since the days when the revolutionary mob had tried to storm Château LeBlanc. Thick animal pelts covered the floorboards and moonlight shone through the half-open drapes. A small part of Ethan wondered about the
practicalities of living here. How did Jean-Luc heat the room? Did the door on the far side lead to a bathroom? Why would anyone choose to shut themselves away in here when they could have the whole run of this incredible building?

“This is wonderful,” he said, regarding everything in more detail. The wooden-framed bed, which had the family crest carved into its footboard, was big enough to accommodate two people with ease. Ethan thought back to Agathe’s mention of Benoît and wondered whether that was who’d once slept alongside Jean-Luc. If so, there seemed to be no reminders of him in the room. The only photo he spotted was one of a younger Jean-Luc with what Ethan took to be his parents.

“Thank you. You see now why I’m not keen for anyone to intrude on my sanctuary.”

“So why I am here?”

“Because you’re not just anyone, Ethan.”

The kiss seemed to take Jean-Luc as much by surprise as it did Ethan. He thought he saw a momentary flicker of doubt cross the Frenchman’s face, as if he felt it would be more prudent to pull back from the brink than press on any further.

Are we making a mistake here? If so, Ethan didn’t care. Right now, this was just what he needed to wipe away the last traces of his failed relationship with Boyd. He let his sneakers drop from nerveless fingers.

Jean-Luc pulled Ethan into his arms, planting his mouth hard on Ethan’s in a swift, demanding fashion.

He’d never been claimed in such an assertive manner before and he found his body responding. He wrapped his hands around the back of Jean-Luc’s neck and kissed him, his tongue battling with Jean-Luc’s and his breathing growing rapid and heavy.

“I’ve been trying to deny it to myself but I know you are the one.” Jean-Luc broke the kiss to murmur into Ethan’s ear, “Everything about you inflames me.” He paused, took a deep breath. “But before we go any further, there’s something I should tell you.”

Ethan shook his head, afraid the moment would be spoiled by Jean-Luc’s revelation. “Whatever it is, it can wait. This won’t.”

With each fresh kiss, the heat between them increased. Ethan had grown almost painfully hard. He ground his body against Jean-Luc’s, the bulge at his groin rubbing on a similarly thick protrusion concealed within the folds of Jean-Luc’s brown and gold jacquard robe.
Ethan’s jeans seemed a size too small, the zipper pressing uncomfortably at his sensitive flesh, even through the soft cotton of his underwear. He needed to be naked. More than that, he was impatient to see what this gorgeous man looked like once his clothes came off.

As if following the steps of some time-honored dance, Jean-Luc paced toward the bed, taking Ethan with him. Ethan allowed himself to be maneuvered backward until he felt the backs of his thighs bump the edge of the mattress. He sat heavily, the bedsprings creaking beneath his weight.

Jean-Luc reached for one of Ethan’s socks then pulled it off. He repeated the action with the other foot. Ethan wriggled his bare toes, wondering whether the man intended to strip him down to the skin.

He got his answer when Jean-Luc grabbed his belt buckle, making short work of unfastening both it and the fly of Ethan’s jeans. In moments, the items were off, leaving him in just T-shirt and underwear. The damp spot of pre-cum on the front of his briefs provided damning evidence of his mounting excitement.

Jean-Luc stepped back from the bed and untied the belt of his robe, letting it fall from his shoulders. He wore nothing beneath it. Ethan gazed in frank admiration at the Frenchman’s long, thick cock, rising proudly from the mat of blondish curls at his crotch. Unlike all of Ethan’s previous lovers, he was uncut. Ethan found himself wondering what it would be like to stroke that foreskin back and forth along Jean-Luc’s substantial shaft.

He had the opportunity to find out when Jean-Luc joined him on the mattress. As they kissed, Ethan put a hand down between their two bodies to grip that uncircumcised length. The feel of it had him smiling against Jean-Luc’s lips. So hard within yet wonderfully soft on the outside.

“Ah, mon dieu,” Jean-Luc muttered while Ethan continued to jerk him off. “You don’t know how long it’s been since anyone touched me like this.”

Ethan had gone through dry spells of his own and knew how overwhelming it had been when he’d found himself in the arms of another man once more. He slowed the pace of his caresses, not wanting to drive Jean-Luc to the point of release just yet.

“I didn’t mean I wanted you to stop.” Jean-Luc pouted.

Bio: Elizabeth Coldwell is a multi-published author and the former editor of the UK edition of Forum magazine. Her novels, novellas and short stories have been published by, among others, Totally Bound, Xcite, Cariad, Black Lace, Cleis Press and Circlet Press. She was Editor-in-chief at Xcite Books, where she edited numerous novels and short story collections, among them Lipstick Lovers, the winner of the 2013 National Leather Association award for best anthology.

Find out more about Elizabeth at The (Really) Naughty Corner, Totally Bound and Goodreads

Monday, 6 July 2015

Special Guest: Sometimes I wish I were a Brit by Lisabet Sarai

I’m still on a high from my trip to England in May, to attend Smut by the Sea. Because I live in a conservative Asian country and have to scrupulously guard my anonymity, it’s very rare for me to get the chance to hobnob with my fellow erotic authors, let alone to read my work in public. I was thrilled to finally meet face to face with friends whom I’ve known online for years, including Madame Blisse and her loyal swain Kevin. Some of the attendees had actually read my books, and told me they liked them! Talk about an ego boost!

Even without the event though, I would have enjoyed Scarborough. I adore seaside resorts, in any country, and I have a special emotional attachment to the Victorian period—perhaps due to all the Sherlock Holmes I read in my youth, and the many pages of Victorian erotica I consumed later. I’ve even entertained the theory that I had a previous life during Victoria’s reign. In any case, I found Scarborough intensely atmospheric. Though it was quite deserted in off-season, my imagination peopled it with men in frock coats and ladies with flowing skirts, corseted waists and tiny veiled hats perched upon their upswept ringlets. I could picture them strolling through the gardens, taking tea on the verandas of the grand hotels, or waiting in line, beneath their parasols, for the tram to the beach.

Indeed, sometimes I wish I was a Brit. Raised on tales of King Arthur and Shakespeare’s plays, I’m hungry for history. England delivers. Before traveling to Scarborough, I spent a couple nights in fabulous York. We stayed in an inn where Guy Fawkes was born, in 1570—but that’s relatively recent for York, which was founded as a Roman garrison in 71 AD then became the capital of a  Norse kingdom in the 9th century.

The castle on the heights above Scarborough Beach dates from the twelfth century, and there are even older fortresses up and down the coast. Contrast that with America, with a mere two hundred fifty years under its belt, aside from a few spots like New Orleans, St. Augustine and the Spanish mission towns in California.

The typical British countryside may be less grand than the vast and dramatic mountains, deserts and canyons of my home country, but it’s the greenest place I’ve ever been. (I’ve never seen Ireland.) I recall a trip to Bath, many years ago, in the heart of January. The temperature was about zero Celsius, with frigid winds. Yet the fields and meadows were all an astonishing emerald hue. I’m sorry I didn’t get the opportunity on this trip to visit the famed Yorkshire moors. That will have to wait until my next visit.  

As an author of erotic fiction, I really appreciate the Brits’ attitude toward sex. To an outsider, at least, it seems far more relaxed and healthy than the Puritanical stance typical of America. In the U.S., many cities would never allow the organizing and especially, the public advertising,  of an event like Smut by the Sea. My DH and I were amazed to see Smut by the Sea posters out on the street in front of the public library where the event took place. There wasn’t anything particularly  risqué about the plump, bikini-clad lady frolicking in the waves, but the mere word “smut” would raise American hackles.

Indeed, the vocabulary Brits use to talk about sex captures a sense of joy and fun rather than shame. If I were a Brit, I could write use words like “snog”, “knickers”, “bonk” and “shag” and not feel like I’m speaking a foreign language. I especially love “shag”, which is so much less aggressive than “fuck” or “screw”, without descending into the sentimentalism of “making love” (though that’s sometimes appropriate too). “Shagging” implies a level of mutuality, a sense that a good time is being had by all.

My first publisher and my current main publisher are both British. So you’d think I’d have written characters from England, or set some of my books there. For the most part, I haven’t dared. I’m really not sure I can capture the cadence of British speech. And my visits to the country have been all too few and far between.

I do have one heroine who’s a Brit, though—Ruby Maxwell Chen from my novel Nasty Business. Ruby is half English, half Malaysian Chinese. Although she looks (and sometimes thinks) like an Asian, she was brought up and educated in England, and now runs the Maxwell Group of companies from a luxurious office building on Canary Wharf. The first third of the book takes place in London, before the action moves to Los Angeles, where the hero Rick Martell is based. However, I cheated a bit (or maybe chickened out would be more accurate) and didn’t really push too hard on the local details. I do have one scene, though, set in a London taxi, which probably wouldn’t work in most other cities—there wouldn’t be room in the back seat!

I’ve included a (very explicit) excerpt from this scene below. If you like it, leave a comment on this post with your email, and I’ll enter you into a drawing to win a copy of the book!

I want to thank the Brit Babes for hosting me and Victoria as well as for being the guiding light behind all the luscious smut events in the UK. And I hope I can come back to England, before too long, and meet more of my British friends in person.

Nasty Business by Lisabet Sarai
Romantic erotica from Fireborn Publishing


We make our way through the crowd to the street. I find that I am sensitized.  I notice the rubbings, the gropings, the manifold exposures, in the churning throng. My companion does not touch me, but I feel his presence as he follows my leather-clad form. Like burning coals. Like the unstated fact of a whip draped over a chair.

We are in a taxi now, in the semi-private darkness, and his hands are all over me. I don't worry about the driver. What is there that a London cabbie has not seen? I teeter between enjoyment and terror. Oh, I want this stranger, but surely, it must be on my terms.

He brings my hand down between his thighs, and I feel triumph. Finally, he is erect, he wants me. He unzips his trousers and releases his cock. "I'd like you to suck me," he says. There is a trace of irony in his voice. "Assuming that you are feeling generous, of course."

I hate him, his overwhelming sensuality, his casual superiority. Normally, I will not perform fellatio. I find it degrading and subservient. But his engorged penis gleams in the transient street light, infinitely attractive. Saliva gathers in my mouth at the prospect. I am actually hungry to swallow his rod.

He is watching me as the passing lights first illumine me, then throw me into shadow. He feels my hesitation. "Go on," he says. "You know you want to."

Recklessness and desire. He is right. This is only a one-night stand. I should follow my heart, body, whatever. I straddle him as he lies back on the bench seat, arrogantly thrusting my arse in his face. No kneeling before my master, not for me. His penis bobs in front of me, inviting, almost taunting.

I decide to taunt him in return. I begin with the lightest of touches, just a tease; the tip of my tongue on the sensitive knob. I am rewarded by a faint moan. His swollen member twitches, nearly hitting me in the face. Carefully, I trace the ridge below the bulb, delighting in the smoothness, and the tension underneath.

His cock strains toward me, seeming to beg for the warm depths of my mouth. But I continue to tease, licking, nipping, tracing the veined length of him with my tongue, but not letting him into me.

I feel his fingers between my legs, and realize that he has decided to tease me in retaliation. So be it. I am grateful for any touch there. The more I sample his cock with my tongue, the more I want to feel that swollen bulk deep in my sex. It is not the longest, nor the thickest, nor the hardest cock I have ever encountered. But like its owner, it glows with some kind of sexual energy. I can feel the vibrations when I bring my lips close to kiss the tip. Still, though, I resist the urge to engulf him, to feast on him until he cannot bear the pleasure. That is what he wants, I know, and for that, he will just have to wait.

"Come on, Ruby," he says, his voice husky, persuasive. "Don't be shy. I know you've sucked cock before. Open up!"

It does not register; the fact that he knows my name. Hardly surprising, because at that moment I am impaled. Until now, the most delicate, fleeting caresses, making my body scream for more. Now, suddenly, there is something hard and smooth in my cunt, sliding in and out of my slippery cleft and bringing a scream to my lips, despite my determination to remain in control.

He takes advantage of my gaping mouth. As I gasp for breath, struggling to comprehend and control my reactions, his rigid penis slips between my lips. Silk over granite. Hot blood pulsing. A tremor takes me as he thrusts simultaneously, deep in my throat, deep in my sex. I am skewered on these two points of pleasure.

About Me

I became addicted to words at an early age. I began reading when I was four. I wrote my first story at five years old and my first poem at seven. Since then, I’ve written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – more than fifty single author titles including eight full length novels, plus dozens of short stories. My credits include contributions to the Lambda winner Where the Girls Are and the IPPIE Best Erotic Book of 2011, Carnal Machines. My gay scifi erotic romance Quarantine won a Rainbow Awards 2012 Honorable Mention. I have also edited a number of acclaimed erotica anthologies. Currently I’m responsible for the charity erotica imprint Coming Together Presents, which as of December 2015 has published six volumes by top erotic authors, supporting causes such as Amnesty International, Planned Parenthood, and the Multiple Sclerosis Association of America.

I have more degrees than anyone would ever need, from prestigious educational institutions who would no doubt be deeply embarrassed by my chosen genre. Aside from writing, travel is one of my most fervent passions. I’ve visited every continent except Australia, though I still have a long bucket list of places I haven’t been. Currently I live in Southeast Asia with my indulgent husband and two exceptional felines, where I pursue an alternative career that is completely unrelated to my creative writing.

I’m also on Goodreads, Amazon, and so on. Just Google me (or check the links above). For better or worse, there’s only one Lisabet Sarai!

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