For
most of my twenty year career as an erotica author (if you can indeed
dignify my efforts with the term “career”!), I’ve tended more
towards the literary side of the erotic spectrum. This is especially
true in my short stories, but many of my novels also deserve the
“literary” label – at least in contrast to what’s commonly
known as “stroke fiction”.
Then
a few years ago, something happened. Just for the hell of it, I
started writing a story that was wall-to-wall sex, with no attempts
at any sort of redeeming social value. I turned off my censor, my
internal critic, and let my sexual imagination out to play.
The
result was Hot Brides in Vegas, the first book of what would
become the Vegas Babes series. I had fantastic fun creating this
novella; I could indulge myself, mix up genders, stage outrageous
scenes, do whatever my naughty muse urged. I was not writing for any
particular audience, except myself and my colleague Larry Archer (who
kindly let me set the book in a fictional world he’d created).
I
didn’t intend to write a series. When I wrote “The End” on the
first book, I thought I was done. However, almost immediately I
started getting ideas for a sequel. Meanwhile, Hot Brides sold
better than anything I’d ever written.
Right
now I’m on the home stretch for the fifth Vegas Babes book, Babes
in Bondage. I’m hoping to get it out by Halloween. I almost
wrote “the last Vegas Babes book” above, because that’s my
honest intention. But who knows!
Meanwhile
for today, my “promo day”, I have an excerpt from the second
book, More Brides in Vegas. I think this will give you the
flavor of the series....
More Brides in Vegas by Lisabet Sarai
Tying
the knot — with no strings attached!
Who
can
resist
love
at
first
sight?
The
minute
Ted
saw
Annie
shedding
her
clothes
on
stage
at
The
Fox’s
Den,
he
fell
head
over
heels
for
the
petite,
busty
redhead.
She
had
to
make
the
first
move,
though,
dragging
him
into
an
impromptu
orgy
in
the
Den’s
VIP
suite,
along
with
technically-virgin
bride
Francesca,
secret
slut
Laura,
and
hot
black
mama
Chantal.
Now
Annie
and
Ted
are
getting
married,
and
they’ve
invited
all
their
friends
from
that
wild
Amateur
Night
to
the
party.
Taking
over
a
vintage
eighties
motel
with
a
courtyard
and
pool
for
their
private
function,
the
bride
and
groom
expect
a
certain
amount
of
carnal
excess.
Still,
nobody’s
prepared
for
the
sexual
free-for-all
that
breaks
loose,
involving
not
only
the
gals
from
the
Den
but
also
Annie’s
rock
star
brother,
Ted’s
MILF
mother,
Chantal’s
new
slave
girl,
a
lascivious
hippie
couple,
a
susceptible
priest,
the
butch
hotel
manager,
and
an
entire
Scottish
rugby
team.
As
the
wedding
guests
act
out
their
secret
fantasies,
they
push
the
limits
of
both
lust
and
love.
Finally
arriving
at
the
altar,
after
an
exhausting,
arousing
twenty
four
hours,
Annie and Ted realize that tying the knot doesn’t have to
mean tying themselves down.
Excerpt
“I
wannae see the hoatel manager. Where’s the fookin’ manager, you
little eejit?”
A
giant of a man with a barrel chest and legs like telephone poles
strode into the courtyard from the direction of the hotel lobby,
dragging a skinny college-age boy with him. The kid—Chantal
remembered she’d seen him behind the hotel desk when she’d picked
up her key—cringed and silently pointed in Nan’s direction.
“Gawn!
D’ye think ahm buttoned up the back? That nekkid dyke?”
Cool
as anything, as self-assured as if she’d been wearing a designer
suit instead of a strap-on, Nan rose to her feet and confronted the
newcomer. Though she was at least a foot shorter, the obviously angry
man paused when confronted by her natural authority
“I’m
Nan Anderson, general manager of the Holiday House,” she said.
“I’ll thank you to let Michael go.”
He
glared at her from under bushy ginger brows. Nan didn’t flinch in
the slightest.
“Now,
please. He’s just a part-time clerk. Whatever your difficulty, I’ll
take care of it.”
He
opened his ham-sized hand. Poor Michael almost crumpled to the floor.
“Get
back to the desk, Mike. I’ll handle this.”
The
young man scuttled away.
“Now,
sir,” she continued, her voice cool and professional despite her
nudity. “What’s the problem?”
“Thae
gormless tool said yer fool for the weeken’.” The foreigner
scowled and waved a sheet of paper in her face. “Me an’ me mates
booked an’ paid. Ye dinnae think we’re gonnae come all thae way
to America fer a ternamen’ but nae reserve our rooms, did ye?”
“Can
I see that, please?” Nan scrutinized what was obviously a printout
from some website. “I have to admit the dates match. But we’re
closed for a private event this weekend. We blocked out the rooms
more than three months ago. I don’t know why the booking site—”
“Ah
dinnae ken an’ ah dinnae cerr. Me an’ me chaps need beds. Been on
a fookin’ plane for ferteen hours.”
“Um—how
many are in your group?”
The
angry customer shook his head. “Aye, but yer stoopit, lass. Who
doesnae know thae a rugby team’s fifteen men?”
“Rugby?”
Nan looked him up and down, as if that explained his stature. “Oh!”
The
guy broke into a grin. “Glassgow Gladiators. City champs.”
“And
you are?”
He
gave a little bow. “Ian Stuart, team captain. At yer service.”
“Aey,
Ian! Whot’s goan on?” Two men built a lot like Ian, one with
sandy hair, the other dark, strode into view.
“Tha
lady says they dinnae have rooms for us.” The scorn in Ian’s
voice made Chantal wince.
“Now,
now, Mr. Stuart. I didn’t say that at all.” Nan smiled at the
three athletes. “The hotel’s booked for a wedding, but in fact
most of the guests won’t arrive until tomorrow. I can let you stay
tonight; then I’ll help you find accommodation at some other
property for tomorrow. Would that work for you?”
The
captain’s face brightened. “Aye, lass. At least we dinnae have to
sleep in the van.”
“Also,
I’ll arrange for you to be reimbursed for the second and subsequent
nights, since I assume the Internet reservations aren’t
refundable,” she continued.
Ian
broke into a huge grin. “Thae’s a total belter!” Much to
Chantal’s amazement, he gave Nan a hearty slap on the back. “Thank
ye. I’ll be goan to get the lads.”
“Meanwhile,
I’ll go explain the situation to Michael.” Nan grabbed a beach
towel to cover herself up. Chantal figured she was probably trying to
spare the poor college kid. The manager didn’t leave, though.
Probably she was still concerned about the new arrivals.
The
burly guy looked around the courtyard, as if seeing his environment
for the first time. Fran and Miranda had retired to their rooms, but
Nina and Linda still sprawled on the cushions, eating each other’s
snatches, while Amy watched with both hands buried in her pussy.
Across the pool, on one of the patios, Annie straddled Jake’s lap,
riding his cock for all she was worth. Then of course there was
Chantal herself, like some naked African queen, her tits displayed
proudly, her legs streaked with pussy juice. Zoe had tiptoed over to
kneel at her feet while Nan had been dealing with the visitors.
Chantal stroked the girl’s platinum locks, feeling a new tenderness
for her lovely slave.
“A
waddin, ye say?” He flashed Nan a wicked grin. “More like an
orgy, if ye ask me.”
“Ye
daftie,” said the blond rugby player. “Ye hannae heard about stag
parties?”
“Yeah,
Ned, but isnae for the bloke and his mates? Here thae’s mostly
burds.”
“This
is a pre-wedding party.” Chantal spoke up for the first time. “For
the bride and the groom, plus their close friends.”
“Aye,
right. Ah cain see how close!” Ian shot her a leer. With an
exaggerated swagger, he adjusted his package. “Any chance of us
lads getting a wee swally and a bit of hoch-magandy?”
“What?”
Chantal asked, mystified.
Ian
took a step in her direction. “Nookie, hen. Shaggin. A wee poke.”
“There’s
plenty of beer over by the bar.” Nan gestured in that direction.
“As for sex, well, you’ll have to ask the individuals involved.”
“I’m
not interested,” Chantal said, rising to her feet. “Come on, Zoe.
I want some private time with you.”
“Yes,
Mistress.”
“Mistress!
Guess yer the Heed-the-baw, then,” Ian commented.
“No,”
Nan corrected him. “That would be me. But I’m not interested
either, at least not at the moment.”
“Thaes
a true shame, lassie,” said Ian. “Aey’d sure like ye to grease
my pole.”
“You
might want to check out those two lit-up rooms on the ground floor,”
the manager continued. “I gather there’s some action going on in
there. Maybe you can join in.”
As
if to confirm her statement, a naked male figure stumbled out of the
right hand room and collapsed into a deck chair. The man mopped his
brow with the back of his hand and sighed.
“Are
you all right, Ted?” called Chantal, waving.
He
looked up and grinned. “I’m all fucked out,” he called back.
“But I’m having fun. I never expected this from someone like
Laura.”
Chantal
smiled to herself. She’d always know there was a hot mama under
Laura’s East Coast reserve.
“Rod’s
doing her now. Steve’s in her mouth. But I don’t know how long
they can hold out. That woman’s insatiable!”
Nan
gave Ian a meaningful look. “Looks like you and your lads showed up
just in time!”
Buy
Links
Barnes
and
Noble
–
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/more-brides-in-vegas-lisabet-sarai/1128957058?ean=2940155308614
