Published May 12, 2015 by LadyLit Publishing
36,000 words
ISBN # 9789881420428
Genre: F/F erotica and erotic romance
Heat level: Explicit (5 flames)
#lesbianerotica #lisabetsarai #steampunk
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Blurb
In Her Own Devices, Lisabet Sarai collects her favorite stories
of lesbian desire into a single volume. Meet Ally, former gang member, whose fears
losing her identity along with her tattoos in the skilled hands of laser technician
Luisa. Get to know butch firefighter Wilhemina “Billie” Macdonald, struggling to
recover from the disastrous accident that killed her best buddy, with the help of
a rather unconventional psychotherapist. Lick your lips at Goth rock chick Mina,
barely into her twenties but brazen as sin, and velvet-clad, cigar-smoking Silicon
Valley siren Dr. Marta Hausman. Share Sister
Kathleen Patrick’s confusion and arousal as she finds herself drawn to a most unsuitable
partner. Experience submissive femme Jana’s ultimate surrender to her Daddy’s ropes,
clamps, and ice cream sundae.
Each of these nine luscious tales will introduce you to distinctively
different women. Each demonstrates that, left to her own devices, a woman can find
what she needs—passion, comfort, love, healing—in another woman’s arms.
PG Excerpt from “Rush Hour”
I should have taken the subway. I didn’t want to ruin my suit in
the rain, but that hardly mattered now. I was just about to give up and walk when
I saw a cab with his light on, halfway up the block. Juggling briefcase, purse and
umbrella, I scrambled through the crowd on the sidewalk. He might be my last chance.
He was stuck in traffic. I prayed that the signal didn’t change.
Just as I reached him, a black-clad figure pushed past me and wrenched the door
open.
“Hey! That’s my cab!”
“No way, lady. I got here first.” The girl grinned at me, pale makeup
and purple lipstick giving her a ghoulish quality. She started to climb into the
vehicle but I grabbed her sleeve.
“I’m late. I need this cab. It’s terribly important. You can take
the next one.”
“You think that I don’t have important places to go?” She pulled
her arm from my grasp, further stretching her already misshapen sweater. “I’ve got
rehearsal in half an hour. Now get out of my way.”
She tried to elbow past me. Desperate, knowing I’d feel bad later,
I snatched her shoulder bag and threw it on the sidewalk.
“You bitch!” As she ducked down to pick it up, I slid into the taxi.
Before I could slam the door, though, she pushed in after me, jabbing me in the
ribs with her umbrella. The door closed just as the traffic light turned green.
“Where to, ladies?” The cabbie
was torn between annoyance and amusement.
“Ow! 32nd and Lex, please.” I could barely get the words out.
“No, don’t listen to her. Houston, near Varick. Step on it!”
“Ignore her. I was in the cab first. If you don’t take me to Murray
Hill immediately, I’ll report you.”
A truck cut in front of us. The driver stomped on the brakes, hurling
our bodies forward. The girl let out a wail
as her forehead hit the plexiglass partition. I was smothered by sudden remorse.
“Are you all right? Miss?” She slumped down in the seat, looking
dazed. A bruise was already reddening above her left eyebrow. “Can you hear me?”
She nodded vaguely.
“You should be wearing your seat belts,” the driver commented. I
fastened mine, then reached around the young woman’s slight figure to secure hers.
From her drenched garments rose a funk of damp wool and marijuana. Multiple steel
rings pierced her earlobes. On her pale neck, below her right ear, was a neatly
etched tattoo of a skull. Under her shapeless sweater she wore a snug black V-necked
jersey. Guilt tightened its grip on me when I realized I was admiring her cleavage.
I leaned toward the driver. “Go ahead to Houston as she asked. She
needs help.”
“No, that’s okay.” Her voice quavered a bit. “I’m all right. You
can stop at 32nd first. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, no problem.” She fingered the swelling on her forehead. “The
band can wait. I’m the lead singer. They can’t start without me.”
“Look, I’m sorry about grabbing your bag. That was really rude.”
She grinned, showing an even line of white teeth that contrasted
with her livid mouth. “Yeah, it was. Not what I’d expect from a fancy executive
like you.”
Explicit Excerpt
"I told you to make yourself comfortable. Do I have to discipline
you to get you to obey me?" She gestures at me with the crop. I'm simultaneously
terrified and terribly aroused.
"No – no, Ma'am."
"Get those clothes off, then. Now."
I strip as quickly as I can, acutely aware of her dark eyes on me.
In thirty seconds or less, my clothes are in a tangled pile on the cushions. I stand
naked in front of her, suddenly embarrassed
by the dark fuzz on my legs and in my armpits.
Marta inhales, deep and slow, then releases the smoke through pursed
scarlet lips. She is silent as she circles my body, judging me. She's achingly close,
but she does not touch me. I tremble every time I sense her moving.
She pauses behind my back, and brushes the riding crop lightly over
my buttocks. I freeze. Will she beat me, mark me, make me hers? I brace for the
pain, fearful yet strangely eager for the new sensation. Instead she places the
crop where I can see it on the lounge.
"Not today, little one – not this time. Not as long as you are
a good girl." I feel her heat, smell
her musk mixed with the fruity cigar scent. My legs are rubbery, unstable. She massages
my buttocks, molding them in her palms. All at once I feel her finger sliding from
behind into my soaking cunt. I clench my muscles around the slender digit, trying
to keep her inside me, but she slips free and holds her finger in front of my face.
I breathe in my own damp, ripe aroma.
Her voice next to my ear is soft and smooth as velvet. "You
certainly are a wet little girl, Loretta. A deliciously wet little slut." She
pulls my plait out of the way and kisses me just below the earlobe. Her lips send
shivers racing through me, electric arcs that spark across my nipples and converge
on my clit.
I'm dying for more, but she pulls back after that brief caress. Her
fingers ghost down to the small of my back, where she pulls off the elastic that
secures the braid. "When you're with me, I want your hair loose, free. I want
to see it flowing over your shoulders."
She arranges it that way as she speaks, then circles back around to evaluate
the effect.
"Much better." She flicks a lock away from my breast, almost
but not quite touching me. "But I certainly don't want to hide those adorable
tits." Seating herself on the chaise,
she beckons me to her. My nipples are just at the level of her lips. She warms one
with her breath, and it tightens visibly. I want to scream, to beg her to touch
me. She's running this show, though. We both know that.
She fastens her mouth on that needy nipple. I close my eyes as pleasure and relief overwhelm me. She sucks steadily.
My clit twitches and dances as if her mouth were down there instead. I moan and
try to rub my hungry pussy against her robe. She bites down hard on the swollen
bud of flesh between her lips.
"Ow!"
"Naughty little slut! Maybe I need to use my crop after all!" Her actions don't match her words, however. I
imagine her seizing her instrument of punishment and throwing me over her lap so
that she can chastise me. Instead, she sinks to one knee in front of my pussy and
opens me with her mouth and fingers.
About Lisabet Sarai
LISABET SARAI writes in many genres, but F/F fiction is one of her
favorites. Her lesbian erotica credits include contributions to Lambda Award winner
Where the Girls
Are, Ippie-winning Carnal Machines,
Best Lesbian
Romance 2012, Forbidden
Fruit: Stories of Unwise Lesbian Desire, and Lammy-nominated Coming Together: Girl on Girl. Her story “The Late Show” appears in the recently
released Best Lesbian Erotica 2015. Her
first stand-alone lesbian title, The Witches of Gloucester, was release
in March by LadyLit.
Lisabet holds more degrees than anyone would ever need, from prestigious educational institutions who would no doubt be deeply embarrassed by her explicit literary endeavors. She has traveled widely and currently lives in Southeast Asia, where she pursues an alternative career that is completely unrelated to her writing. For all the dirt on Lisabet, visit her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com) or her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com).
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