Lisabet Sarai’s Her Own Devices
I’m so excited to have Lisabet back today. Her latest book Her Own Devices is out now. It’s a collection of nine different short stories, each one combining F/F erotica and erotic fiction. I definitely can’t wait to get my hands on a copy so I can read it. She joins me today to talk about where some of her inspiration for lesbian fiction comes from. You can also check out her interview that she did with me last time and see a fun picture of her in a spider costume. Read all about the book, plus an excerpt that is hot and will leave you wanting more. At the very bottom enter for a chance to win a copy of her book The Witches of Gloucester.
By Lisabet Sarai
I must really be horny, to be sitting here fantasizing about the keynote speaker. I squirm in my chair and worry that I’m making a damp spot. The geek next to me appears to be equally captivated by the woman at the podium; there’s a big bulge in his lap. I wonder if he’s catching my tell-tale scent.
Marta Hauser, founder and CEO of VideoPlayHaus.com, takes control of the stage. I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s the only woman on the SoftCon opening panel, addressing the ostensibly earth-shaking topic: “The New Net: Convergence or Confusion?”
In contrast to the casual beige of her fellow Silicon Valley visionaries, Marta wears an emerald green pantsuit of rich velvet that molds perfectly to her body. The business-like cut only makes her curves more obvious. She takes the mic and struts around like the star that she is. The velvet gleams in the spotlight that follows her.
Her jet black hair is short, parted along one side with spiky sideburns that accentuate her cheekbones. Her eyes are dark, too. Even from the middle of the auditorium, I can see that her ripe lips are painted crimson. I imagine those lips claiming mine, firm, no nonsense, and then I imagine them lower, smearing my belly with scarlet, marking the insides of my thighs with lipstick brands before fastening on my aching clit. I can feel the soft nap of her trousers caressing my flesh as she parts my thighs with her own.
I’m so aroused that it hurts. I consider slinking off to the Ladies Room, but I don’t want to miss an instant of Marta’s performance. I try to focus on what’s she’s saying. I’m sure that it must be intelligent if not enlightening. I keep getting distracted by the V of tanned skin above the closure of her jacket.
~ From “Velvet”
In Her Own Devices, by Lisabet Sarai
Every author writes from personal experience. Erotic authors in particular expose themselves in their fiction. I’m a girl watcher – and I’ve always been, long before I recognized I was bisexual. This propensity has actually made me quite popular with the guys. I don’t get jealous when they salivate over some delicious passing female. Instead, we compare notes.
I may be strolling down the sidewalk, doing the grocery shopping, sitting on the subway, when some woman catches my eye. I try not to stare – honestly, I don’t want to make her uncomfortable – but I’ve actually come close to missing my stop on the train because I was surreptitiously savoring some intriguing-looking lady.
What grabs my attention? Not necessarily conventional beauty. A woman’s manner has much more influence – the way she holds herself or moves, her facial expressions, the clothing she has chosen to express her personality. Living as I do in a tropical climate, I do see a lot of skin, but that’s not the determining factor. Okay, I’ll admit a smooth, dusky shoulder will set my heart racing. The wisps of hair escaping from her ponytail to tickle the back of her sweat-damp neck make me want to run my tongue along that magnetic curve. That glimpse of bare, brown midriff – a strappy sandal caressing a high arch – wrists clinking with bangles or earlobes threaded with bright gold – hair that explodes into a cloud of curls, or cascades down her back like a waterfall of silk – clunky, dark-framed eyeglasses perched above high cheekbones – a neatly tailored suit and a crisp white blouse – any of these details might nail me to the floor in eager wonder.
Older women appeal to me too. I’m drawn to women who wear their gray hair long, especially the ones with braids, who look like hardy pioneers. I love the watch the gals my age who move with confidence and grace, comfortable in their skin, the ones who know that self-respect matters more than anyone’s opinion. I want to know these women. All I do, though, is admire them from a far, unable to turn fascination into action.
I’ve commented in the past that I had few if any regrets about my life. However, writing this post, I realized there’s one major gap in my life’s experience, unlikely at this point to be filled. I’ve never really had a woman lover. My first lesbian encounter, with a close friend, was thrilling but incomplete, and never repeated. (We’re still friends, but that night is never mentioned.) I’ve played a bit with women at swing parties and sex clubs, but always with males present. Over the years, I’ve had crushes on quite a few of my close female friends, but I’ve never known a woman well who wanted me the same way I wanted her.
So when I girl-watch, held spellbound by the diverse beauty of my own gender, it’s bittersweet. I think that yearning finds its way into my stories when I write lesbian erotica.
I have two standalone F/F titles available now, very different in tone but both indulging my fascination with women. The Witches of Gloucester is a light-hearted erotic fantasy with some paranormal elements. I talked about that book last month her at Amanda’s place. You can find an excerpt here.
My latest release, Her Own Devices, is a collection of lesbian erotic short stories. Although most have happy endings, in general these tales have a more serious and realistic tone than Witches. In “Velvet”, for instance, the protagonist is a young software engineer with issues about her lesbian identity. Her encounter with Silicon Valley siren Dr. Marta Hausman teaches Lori that she can define herself any way she wishes, that her choices regarding appearance or even sexual activities do not determine who she is.
Similarly, in “Making Memory”, two straight women succumb to an unexpected attraction fed by empathy over their respective loss of loved ones. “Burn, Baby” deals with post-traumatic stress and “Sundae Bloody Sundae”, believe it or not, mixes dominance and submission with anorexia. The title story, “Her Own Devices”, is a steampunk tale with a gritty edge, set in Hong Kong.
Both these books are published by LadyLit, a independent lesbian press, and I think they did a fantastic job. I hope you’ll consider picking up a copy of either book (or both!) and indulging yourself with me in vicarious fascination.
When I appeared last month here, I offered a giveaway, but nobody commented, so the prize went unclaimed. I’ll revive that contest here. Leave a comment on this post, telling me why you enjoy lesbian erotica/erotic romance. Be sure to include your email address. I’ll randomly draw one commenter who will receive a copy of The Witches of Gloucester. I’ll also include any comments anyone leaves on my previous post. So you have two chances to win!
I want to thank Amanda for hosting me—twice! I’m hoping my appearances here will help me get to know more readers of F/F fiction.
In Her Own Devices, Lisabet Sarai collects her favorite stories of lesbian desire into a single volume. Meet Ally, former gang member, who 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.
Each of these nine luscious tales will introduce you to distinctively different women, who all demonstrate that, left to her own devices, a woman can find passion, comfort, love, healing or whatever she needs, in the arms of another woman.
From Rush Hour
“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 anime 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.
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.
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).
Leave a comment on this post, telling why you enjoy lesbian erotica/erotic romance. Be sure to include your email address. I’ll randomly draw one commenter who will receive a copy of The Witches of Gloucester. I’ll also include any comments anyone leaves on my previous post. So you have two chances to win!