Guest Blogger: Author Lisabet Sarai

The crew at Oh Get a Grip welcomes guest blogger, author Lisabet Sarai!

Candlelight, Wine and a Whip: Why BDSM is Romantic

Let me begin by saying that every individual has different preferences, desires and limits. That is, in fact, one of the first tenets of BDSM. The picture of the pierced self-corset posted a few days squicked me, too. However, I do believe that many people get hung up on the externals, the paraphernalia and the physical acts popularly associated with dominance and submission, and miss the main point. At the fundamental level, BDSM is about the relationship between the dominant and the submissive – a relationship that at its best is as intimate, intense and fulfilling as anything portrayed in vanilla romance.

BDSM not about one person controlling another. It’s not about cruelty or ego or weakness or low self-esteem or inequality. Serious practitioners (and I guess I must count myself in that number, though my current relationship is vanilla) will tell you that the essence of dominance and submission is an exchange of power. The submissive freely offers the dominant power over her body. (For now I'll assume a female submissive. I've written both male- and female-dominant tales, as well as some lesbian D/s, but it gets awkward to keep using multiple pronouns!) The dominant accepts responsibility for the submissive’s well-being, which includes her pleasure.

The sub surrenders herself to the dom, in devotion and trust. The dom can do whatever he wants with the sub; she has, after all, given her consent (although in the real world, there are always limits, agreed or intuited). He has the intoxicating knowledge that by taking what he desires, he will also give his sub what she most craves: the satisfaction of pleasing her master and the freedom to experience her secret, forbidden fantasies of ravishment and abuse.
Some threads in BDSM literature portray non-consensual dominance, where the submissive is coerced, humiliated and literally abused. I exclude these from consideration. Some people are turned on by such stories, and that’s okay, but I can’t see anything romantic in these scenarios.

My BDSM work focuses on individuals, often in a committed relationship, who share mutually complementary desires and explore them together. Whether the tale involves bondage, or spanking, or electrical stimulation, or some other challenge posed by the dominant for the submissive to experience, the real point is the psychic bond that develops between the participants in a BDSM scene. I know that it probably sounds absurd if you haven’t experienced it, but the dom beats the submissive out of love for her.

I had intended to share an excerpt from Raw Silk. This novel traces the journey of an intelligent, independent woman coming to accept her submissive desires and to love the man who intuits and fulfills them. At the same time, he recognizes his need for her. However, I decided instead to give you something a bit more light-hearted, a selection from Rough Caress, my collection of BDSM short stories. “Wednesday Night at Rocky’s Ace Hardware” is not a true story – but it might well have been. It captures the spirit of my own experiences with D/s, and demonstrates, much better than my halting efforts above, how BDSM can be wonderfully romantic.

Thanks Lisabet! And now a little about one of her fabulous romances. Click on the cover for more information:

X-rated Excerpt from “Wednesday Night at Rocky’s Ace Hardware” From Rough Caress :

We pass a display of galvanized steel fittings. I stop, fascinated. Sturdy eyebolts and swivel bolts, hooks and pulleys, interlocking rings and brackets, all sensuously curved and shining a dull silver. I can't take my eyes away, imagining spread limbs and stretched muscles. Hardware stores always bring out my creative side.

He laughs at my intensity. "You know that we can't attach anything to the walls, Sarah. It's in the resident's agreement."

"Well... what about out on the deck?" Our top-floor condo has a lovely patio built out on the flat part of the roof. From there we have a fabulous view of the city, from Twin Peaks to the Golden Gate.

"You want me to bind you out in the open, where anyone uphill can see you?" He rolls his eyes heavenward, pretending annoyance. "And you say that I'm perverted!"

He steers me onward. Reluctantly, I leave the suggestive display of fittings, only to be transfixed by the rolls of self-service chain at the other end of the aisle.

"Chain is completely impractical," he reminds me with a grin.

"But it's so decorative, so evocative," I counter. "Whips and chains, you know."

"Whatever you want, dear," he says, bowing low. I make a choice and he cuts me a four-foot length of the pretty, brass-finished stuff with half-inch links. He dumps it into our basket. It gives a satisfying clink whenever we move.

My nipples go taut at the sound. He notices, of course, and leans down to tweak one, hard. Another wave of lubrication gushes from my cunt. His nostrils flare as my scent fills the aisle.

"My turn," he says. "Let's go check out the dowels." His thumb and forefinger are still grasping my swollen tit. He leads me toward the back of the store.

I look around nervously, but there are few customers at eight PM on a Wednesday evening. Despite my comments about the deck, I'm actually terrified of public exposure. To be more accurate, public restraint or punishment is still beyond my limits, something I'm not ready to admit that I want. He knows that perfectly well.

He halts in front of a rack holding wooden rods of varying diameters and lengths. I have small hands; I could not get my thumb and forefinger around one of the thickest. The thinnest are perhaps a quarter-inch in diameter, like the sticks used to mount children's balloons.

When he releases his hold on my nipple, I still feel the echo of his fingers on my throbbing flesh. "Bend over," he orders. Trembling with fearful excitement, I bend at the waist. I rest my hands on my thighs for support, but he can see that I am not comfortable. He flips my skirt up, baring my buttocks. "Don't move," he cautions, and then disappears, leaving me alone in this awkward and obscene position.

He is gone for what feels like forever. Slight currents of air brush my exposed ass like ghostly fingers. My engorged pudenda ache for his touch, and the scent of my lust is stronger than ever. Sweat trickles down my neck, dampening my hair. My heart sounds so loudly in my ears, I do not even hear him when he returns. He has a folding stepladder, which he assembles and places in front of me. "Hold on to this."

The position is more stable and places far less strain on my back. "Thank you, Master," I whisper, once again marveling at how finely tuned he is to my needs.

He slips a casual finger into my soaking cunt and wriggles it around. "You certainly are wet, Sarah." My pelvis churns at his touch. Without thought, I grind myself against his hand. I am rewarded by a sharp slap on my butt cheek.

"Be still!" he says softly. "I did not give you permission to move."

He continues to explore my well-lubricated folds. Meanwhile I press my lips together and tighten all my muscles, struggling to obey his directive of immobility.

"What are you thinking, little slut?" he whispers in my ear. "Tell me."

I can hardly speak, aroused and taut as I am. "That I'm yours," I gasp, finally. "That I would do anything for you."

"Really? Well, we'll see about that, won't we?" His voice holds that familiar hint of mockery, but I can tell he is pleased. He pulls his hand abruptly from my sex, and I almost cry out in disappointment. "Now, let me think about this..."

I can hear him rummaging among the dowels. My mind paints pictures of what he will do, what he will choose. I see him easing the fattest rod into my cunt. My sex spasms at the thought, and an electric thrill seizes my clit. But then, why would I think he'd prefer my cunt to my rear hole? He's told me, often, that taking me anally is the purest form of domination. What if he forces a dowel into my ass, presented so conveniently to him here in the aisle of this hardware store, where anyone could watch and observe my total degradation?

I almost come with that thought. But as usual, he surprises me. Just as I am getting control of myself, I hear a swooshing sound, and something burns a fiery track across my left buttock. Before I can recover, my right cheek is symmetrically assaulted. Tears rise and spill down my face at the sudden, spectacular pain.

I tense, expecting more blows, but instead there is the blessed relief of his palm, delicately stroking my inflamed skin. "Yes," he says, "this should do quite nicely, seeing as birch switches are fairly hard to come by in the city..." He circles me, raises me up, and deposits a gentle kiss on my grateful lips. "Don't you think that this will work well, Sarah?"

I nod, still dazed by the pleasure and pain surging in my lower parts. He smoothes my dress over the rosy streaks that I know mark my skin.

I am barely decent when a bespectacled clerk in a blue-striped vest rounds the corner and almost bumps into us. "Oh, excuse me," he says, flustered. "Can I help you with anything?"

My Master looks down at me, pondering a moment. "Let's see, we have plenty of rope... which way to the plumbing supplies?"

BDSM work by Lisabet Sarai

Rough Caress (short stories) ISBN 978-0-980-4739-7-1
from Eternal Press

Ruby’s Rules (erotic romance novel) ISBN 978-1-897559-24-6
from Eternal Press

Raw Silk (erotic romance novel)
Incognito (erotic romance novel)
Rendezvous (romantic novella)
from Total-E-Bound

Heart of the Bear is here!

Heart of the Bear
Guardian Investigations Book 1
By Cindy Spencer Pape
ISBN: 978-1-906590-69-7
Available NOW from Total-E-Bound

Blurb: She can see into the minds of criminals, but can she find her way into the heart of the bear? Detective and psychic Hannah Lightfoot heads to her family’s mountain cabin to make some hard decisions about the future of her career. When she reaches the cabin she finds it already occupied—by a handsome naked stranger. Shape-shifter Evan Maddox is her brother’s friend and partner. After a night of unbelievable passion, they work together to rescue a kidnapped child. He believes in Hannah’s gifts, but can he trust her with his deepest secrets? Maybe even with his heart?

Excerpt 1:
There was something in the air that night. I sat in my grandparent’s Simi Valley backyard and tried to meditate, but I couldn’t relax. My whole body tingled and twitched, like a storm was coming, though Southern California was in the middle of a drought. I’d come up here for advice, but all I’d gotten was more questions. I had three days left to make a decision about my future, and all I knew so far was that something was in the air. I felt it coming just like most people heard a freight train roaring towards them down the track. I couldn’t tell what was looming, but I was pretty sure it was going to hit me just as hard as the damn steam engine.

“You going to stay out here all night?”

I jumped at the voice, then I smiled. Not many people in this world can sneak up on me, even when I’m moping. My grandfather is one of them. Even at eighty-eight, he still has the stealth and psychic power that made him one of the most successful Navajo intelligence operatives in World War II. He put his arm around my waist, and I leaned into his shoulder, just like I’d done since I was a kid.

“No, Granddad. No answers in the wind tonight. I think I’m going to head up to the cabin for the weekend. Maybe the spirits will have more to say to me up there.” My grandfather had moved to LA to be a cop after the war, but he’d always needed to spend some time away from the city, so he’d built a cabin up in the Sierra Madres. Any of the family was welcome to use the place when we needed a retreat. And I needed one right now—big time.

Granddad nodded. “You be careful up there. Something—someone—is coming. I’d go with you if I could, little one, but you need to face this challenge alone. Call once in a while, and let your grandmother know you’re alive.”

I nodded. We both knew it wasn’t necessary. Nana was a Romany Gypsy. During the war, Granddad had rescued her from a German death squad who’d planned to burn her as a witch. Her psychic touch hadn’t faded in all these years. But calling to check in was only polite, and Nana would expect it.

“Listen to the winds, girl. Listen with your heart as well as your ears.” With that cryptic bit of advice, Granddad turned and walked back towards the house, whistling a tune. Damn, if it didn’t sound like Aerosmith. The old man never failed to surprise me.

Guest author: Katie Blu

Today the Oh Get a Grip! crew welcomes guest author Katie Blu, all the way from Down Under:

I reckon I don’t have much to add to the thoughts already posted. My take on marriage is right limited as I’m not married. A fellow will come along one day to whom I will consider turning the key to my freedom over but until then I’d have to be mad to shackle myself until I’m ready. That’s not to say there isn’t a reason to find someone to share yourself with. Just I haven’t found him.

I’m not sold on there being only one kind of commitment. I believe commitment comes in many forms, not just marriage. I support relationships and see that my characters all feel likewise. My project at hand is a m/m, vampire/were with touches of ménage. I would challenge a reader to say the two heroes are not in a committed, loving relationship.

Perhaps marriage is not a requirement for a satisfying ending to a book. Perhaps that is the workings of the industry we write for. My thought is that if you have that loved one whose heart beats in time with yours, the question of marriage is no longer a goal. It is an agreement of legal proportions but not the final word on what works for some couples. Are they happy? Does their relationship hinder you in any way? Does the recognition of a m/f relationship earn a dominant role above m/m or a loving ménage? Did some government official decide this and under what pretense?

Having touched that subject then, on to something I can discuss. Books. I released my first ever short story in the March Caveman Anthology, Jewels of the Nile Vol. 1 to solid reviews. The second, Surprised by Desire, an Oh Yum! was released in May. My next, Beloved Brother will release on July 4th. I also write for Total-E-Bound with a release August 18, Office Politics. To tie back into the topic of the week, all the characters address commitment of a kind. Click on the cover to buy the book

Here’s a HOT clip of my upcoming release from Ellora’s Cave, Beloved Brother JULY 4:

Phoebe Marks squeezed further into the shadows of the wraparound porch, trying as hard as she could not to pant in unison with Mrs. Gilfoy who keened low and fast with each thrust from her lover. Mrs. Gilfoy, her back to Phoebe, had her sexy black dress pulled up around her neck. Her body glistened like polished alabaster in the moonlight.

Her lover’s fingers dug into her hips. Mrs. Gilfoy’s bottom hopped on the banister with each impaling thrust from his lusty cock. The top of his dark head on her shoulder told Phoebe he nuzzled against Mrs. Gilfoy’s neck as she clung to his broad shoulders.

Heat pooled between Pheobe’s legs. Her breath caught at the shuddering squeal of release when the lover pounded harder and faster into Mrs. Gilfoy, not stopping until he grunted his own satisfaction.

It was the first time she’d actually seen him fuck someone. Phoebe had imagined it many times in the last two years, but never like this. Never the primal drive to screw she had just witnessed. Her breath was still coming hard as she watched Jared reclothe Mrs. Gilfoy and tug her hem into place. His hand drifted over her ass as he walked her to the door.

Phoebe’s thighs throbbed, her body clenched deep inside. She’d seen him neck her best friend in high school. She’d even watched him cup one girl’s breast, stroke over it, making her kiss him with frenzied intensity. That was college. Phoebe’s nipples had contracted tightly at that. And there had been the time she’d seen his car in the parking lot outside his dorm building, rocking vigorously beneath a tree. But Jared Larabie, her new step-brother, had never made her ache so badly, before tonight.

Mom had to be crazy to marry his dad. What’s worse was she hadn’t given Phoebe any notice—just up and married him in a courthouse. Not that Phoebe begrudged her remarrying after the way Dad ran off, but did she have to marry the father of her daughter’s nemesis? The guy who’d made high school hell and college life torture once she’d looked past his mocking sneer to his handsome face and still had to hate him for past sins?

Okay, she’d been at the bar celebrating her twenty-first birthday and had made the odious mistake of hitting on the sexiest man who’d walked in the door. Imagine her horror when she’d quit staring at his hot bod long enough to take a gander at his face. Two years ago. Two years and that instant attraction after years of avoidance hadn’t left her, damn him.

When Mom called to announce the wedding today, Phoebe had dropped everything to come home. It appeared Jared had done the same. She eyed Mrs. Gilfoy. Well, maybe not everything. The only dropping he’d done on Mrs. Gilfoy was her panties. Phoebe stifled a snort.

Mrs. Gilfoy kissed Jared goodnight and slipped into her house. It was then Pheobe realized Jared knew she was there. His gaze locked on her through the shadows and he smirked. His loping gait brought him to the spot where he’d fucked Mrs. Gilfoy into next week. Leaning on the banister, Jared stared into the shadows where Pheobe stood.

“Did you get a good look, Phoebe?”

And a HOT clip of my upcoming release from TEB, Office Politics (unedited) AUGUST 18:

He froze when he made the corner and saw Betsy in his chair, her slick pussy lifted to the world, her fingers stroking over glistening curls. She moaned softly with her head thrown back, her lips parted, and her glasses askew over tightly shut eyes. Max’s fingers clenched on his briefcase. He closed his eyes thinking his fantasy life had developed way out of control. He reached down and adjusted his suddenly attentive cock.

He forced his mind to think of the woman as he saw her every day. Betsy was a serious woman with a fantastic work ethic, not an erotic poster girl. Okay, maybe his idea of an erotic poster girl, but it had something to do with the shoulder length curly hair and the funky horn-rimmed glasses, one played off the other. It was sassiness and brains and fuck if it wasn’t sexy. Her smart approach to the magazine industry made her a tough competitor for the editor’s position. There was no chance he was going to let her get it. It also simply wasn’t possible Betsy was sitting in his chair moments before midnight in an empty office, stroking her pussy. It just wasn’t.

I hope you enjoyed the clips!