MF/MMF Steampunk
Shifter BDSM Erotic Romance
52,600 words
Smashwords
and
Amazon
KDP
ISBN (Smashwords):
9781005359492
ASIN: B09DBMLQQG
#steampunk
#bondage #discipline #Victorian #BDSM #India #Bollywood #BBW #analsex #curse
#espionage #dirigible #menage #shifter
Neither
kink nor curse can stop a woman on a mission.
Blurb
A
bandit prince cursed into beast form under the full moon.
A
brilliant but sadistic Rajah whose robotic sex toys mingle torture and delight.
A voluptuous spy on a mission from Her Majesty, tasked with discovering Rajasthan’s secrets.
She has never faced such a challenge.
When Rajasthan refuses to remit its taxes, the Queen calls on her most lethal and seductive secret agent, Cecily Harrowsmith. Cecily expects to have little difficulty persuading the rebellious Rajah to submit once more to the Empire. Instead, she is the one forced to submit – to endure unprecedented extremes of pleasure and pain.
Kidnapped by the ruler's half-brother Pratan and delivered into the hands of the handsome but depraved Rajah Amir, she soon finds herself fighting against her own lascivious nature as much as the schemes of her captors. Her sympathy for the moon-cursed wolf-man Pratan only complicates her situation. Cecily has never failed to complete an assignment, but now she risks betrayal by both her body and her heart.
Note:
This book was previously published by Totally Bound. It has been re-edited,
revised and updated for this release.
Fear of Flying
It would have been much faster to fly.
Alas, Cecily Harrowsmith—special agent for Her Majesty the Queen, expert in the martial arts of three continents, past mistress of princes, potentates and the occasional prime minister—was afraid of flying. She despised herself for this weakness, but not enough to board one of the Empire’s sleek, viridium-powered airships, strap herself into her seat and hope for the best.
Thus begins my most recent release, Rajasthani Moon, a book that deliberately defies categorization. It contains elements of the steam punk and paranormal sub-genres, plus quite a lot of moderately extreme BDSM and a M/F/M ménage. It features a kick-ass Rubenesque heroine, a billionaire Rajah and a sexy, deliciously disreputable bandit. It flirts with non-consensual fantasies and lesbian attraction. It has some funny moments, not infrequently associated with sex. Oh, and it's a romance, with what I hope is a sublimely satisfying happy ending (although I won't tell you who ends up with whom!)
Writing this book involved taking risks. I've observed how readers cling to their favorite genres. I'm breaking rules right and left with this novel. Will the market embrace my mash-up? Or will readers run away in droves, terrified of the unfamiliar?
Producing the same
sort of stories, again and again, can be comfortable. It may help sales, too. To grow as authors, though, we have to
leave safety behind. We must step out onto that high pinnacle of creativity and
let go, defying the fear that we'll plummet ignominiously to the ground. We
have to get over our fear of flying.
Excerpt (Rated PG)
It would
have been much faster to fly.
Alas,
Cecily Harrowsmith—special agent for Her Majesty the Queen, expert in the
martial arts of three continents, past mistress of princes, potentates and the
occasional prime minister—was afraid of flying. She despised herself for this
weakness, but not enough to board one of the Empire’s sleek, viridium-powered
airships, strap herself into her seat and hope for the best.
Hence the
current tedious journey. Cecily peered out of the window of her carriage at the
endless expanse of russet-coloured desert stretching in all directions. The
mere sight of all that sand was enough to make her throat burn. She sipped her
tepid tea, wondering for the twentieth time why she’d accepted this bloody
assignment.
For
England, of course, and the good of the Empire. Her Majesty could scarcely
afford to have her vassal states simply refuse to pay their taxes. When the
Rajah of Jaipur had expelled Her Majesty’s tax collectors and declared his
kingdom independent, the Queen had imposed a viridium embargo. No society these
days could function without the energy-rich mineral. At least this was the
theory. Yet the Rajah and his half-brother had held out for the past three
years, despite being completely cut off from the Empire’s supply lines.
Cecily’s
job was to discover how the isolated principality had managed to survive. She’d
also been instructed to convince the errant rulers to return to the bosom of
the Empire, if at all possible. If persuasion failed, she was authorised to use
force. However, she doubted this would be necessary. Persuasion was after all
her forte.
Once more
she extracted the portraits of the twin rulers of Rajasthan from her
portmanteau to study their countenances. Both had skin the colour of nicely
browned toast. Amir, the official Rajah, was clean-shaven, with deep-set eyes,
a prominent nose and lips as full as a girl’s. He wore his hair in European
style but the rainbow-hued turban perched on his head as well as the loops
piercing his well-shaped ears were more than enough to dispel any notion that
he’d been anglicised. Pratan looked far less civilised, with tangled black
locks reaching to his shoulders and a drooping moustache that gave him a
permanent sneer. He shared his brother’s regal nose but his features were more
angular, less finished-looking than his aristocratic sibling’s. Both men were
strikingly handsome, each in his own way. The paintings provided little
information about their figures, but, given the stark, unforgiving nature of
their country, Cecily thought it unlikely that they’d be stout. With luck,
their bodies would have the same masculine appeal as their faces.
With a
sigh, she tucked the images away and settled back against the cushions. Cecily
was a woman of action. The two-day journey from Bombay had sorely tried her
patience. Miserable roads—cart tracks, really—had limited the speed of her
private motorised carriage. She could have travelled many times faster on
Britain’s macadam highways.
Nevertheless,
she’d been glad to escape the superficial, conservative society of London—the
falseness and the gossip, back-stabbing and double-dealing. Not to mention the
dank weather and the horribly uncomfortable clothing. She knew that a
tightly-laced corset accentuated her ample curves, but she far preferred native
dress, especially in this kind of heat. She shook out the voluminous skirt of
her chaniya choli, admiring the little mirrors sewn into the blue and orange
print. The Rajasthani women wore nothing underneath and she followed suit. It
was far more practical when one had to answer the call of nature out here in
the middle of nowhere.
The
quilted fabric brushed against her unprotected pubis, engendering a pleasant
tickling sensation. Now there was an idea for passing the time… When she
glanced outside again, she noted that the sun was lower. The land had become
rougher and greener as they approached the foothills of the Aravalli range.
Jaipur was located on the other side of the mountains.
She tapped
one of the buttons on the polished wood control panel to her right in order to
signal the driver. “How much longer before we arrive?” she asked in fluent
Hindi.
“At least three hours, ma’am,” came the disembodied
voice. “Not until after dark, I should think.”
After
dark. That wasn’t good at all. Bandits tended to flourish in this sort of wild
landscape. “Well, do your best to get us there as quickly as possible.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Three
hours. She checked the dagger strapped to her upper arm, well-hidden under her
sleeve. When she made a fist, the knife shot into her hand, ready for use. Her
Majesty’s engineers truly had no equal. There was a miniature pistol tucked
into her waist as well, a marvel of workmanship no less deadly for its tiny
size. These weapons would have to do. If brigands struck, she’d have no time to
access the cache of armaments hidden under the clothing in her trunk.
Online
Excerpt
https://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/2021/08/celebrating-my-new-release-steampunk.html
Buy Links
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Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B09DBMLQQG
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About Lisabet
Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has 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 – nearly one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, GLBT, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.
You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads and finally, on Twitter.
Hello, Cara,
ReplyDeleteThanks so much for featuring my latest!
xxoo,
Lisabet