By Lisabet Sarai
eXcessica, November 2017
Taboo contemporary erotic romance (Five flames)
Approximately 86,000 words
ON .99 cents special this week
ON .99 cents special this week
Shy and serious by day—insatiable by night.
Betrayed and abandoned by her first lover, shy and studious Miranda Cahill freezes in response to any sexual attention from someone she knows and likes.
During the day, she works diligently on her doctoral thesis. At night, Public coupling, multiple partners, age play, spankings, bondage, lesbian lust—each experience reveals new dimensions of her depravity. Her anonymous secret life begins to take over when she discovers that the masked seducer she meets in a sex club and the charismatic young professor courting her are the same man.
Dickens scholar Mark Anderson seems like an affable, uncomplicated Midwesterner, but he has hidden depths, myriad talents, and an unlimited appetite for erotic variety. With Mark as her guide, Miranda gradually comes to understand and accept the intricacy of her own desires, as well as to trust her heart.
Note: This novel was previously published under the title Incognito. It has been expanded, revised and reformatted for this release.
Amazon US - https://www.amazon.com/dp/B077J37RW6
Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B077J37RW6
Barnes & Noble - https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/mirandas-masks-lisabet-sarai/1127499525?ean=2940158774584
Add to your Goodreads TBR list! https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36622764-miranda-s-masks
Not Exactly Romance
My new release, Miranda’s Masks, focuses on the developing love between my heroine Miranda and her colleague Mark. It ends with a marriage and a honeymoon. Nevertheless, the book is not exactly romance, at least according to the “rules” of that genre.
Over the course of the book, both Mark and Miranda have sexual adventures with a variety of other people. At first, Miranda’s sexual encounters are deliberately anonymous. Deceived and abandoned by her first lover, Miranda finds that her libido shuts down when she’s with someone she knows and likes. Even after Mark has won her trust, though, the two of them continue behaving in ways most romance couples wouldn’t. They swap partners with Miranda’s best friend and her fiancé, for example. They go cruising together at a gay bar. Both have an experimental streak when it comes to sex. That’s part of what draws them to one another.
I guess it would be accurate to call Miranda’s Masks “romantic erotica”. If you expect sexual fidelity from your characters, don’t bother with this book. On the other hand, if you’re looking for erotic thrills in the context of a loving relationship, this novel may be just perfect.
LISABET SARAI occasionally tackles other genres, but BDSM will always be her first love. Every one of her nine novels includes some element of power exchange, while her D/s short stories range from mildly kinky to intensely perverse.
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.
The room was luxurious and formal, all brocade drapes, oriental carpets, crystal sconces on the walls. Miranda hesitated on the threshold. The weight of Big Daddy’s hand on her shoulder spurred her to enter.
An oversized bed piled high with fringed cushions dominated the room. Miranda’s stomach flipped when she saw it. However, Big Daddy did not steer her toward the bed, but rather, to the wing chair and ottoman arranged by the window. He settled in the armchair and motioned for her to sit at his feet. Without thinking, she crossed her ankles and folded her hands in her lap.
“Now, Lucy, you must be honest with me. You must tell me about these thoughts and feelings which disturb you so much.”
Miranda swallowed nervously. It was remarkable, but she felt guilty and embarrassed. “Well, it happens mostly at night. When I lie in bed, feeling the cotton sheets drift softly over my body. Even through my pajamas, I can feel them, as if someone was stroking me. I get all tingly and strange, and then I start imagining things, remembering things…”
Big Daddy leaned forward, a gleam in his intelligent brown eyes. “What sort of things, Lucy? Don’t be afraid—you can tell me.”
“That time in school, when my gym suit ripped. All the boys saw my panties, but later, I wished that I had not been wearing any underwear.” Miranda was amazed at herself. Where were these stories coming from? They felt real; it was almost as if she could really recall the incident.
Her companion gave a little tsk, but encouraged her to continue.
“Then there was that afternoon, when Madeline and I took a shower together. She wanted to touch my breasts, and I let her. She made me touch hers.”
“Made you? Can you honestly tell me that you didn’t want to?”
Miranda blushed, astonished at her reactions to her own crazy stories. “No, Big Daddy. I wanted to touch her, I admit. Afterward, I remembered and wished that I had touched her in other places.”
“Where? What other places?”
Miranda stared down at her patent-leather shoes. “You know, Big Daddy. I can’t say it.”
“Hmm. Is that all?”
“No,” said Miranda. “There’s more. The thing that I remember most is the time when I watched you. It was years ago, but I still remember, and when I do, I get all hot and itchy.” Her companion was silent and attentive. “I stood behind the bathroom door. You didn’t know I was there, but I saw you. I saw your thing. You stood in front of the toilet, with your hands on your thing, jerking it back and forth. Then after a while, you yelled and were quiet. Then I saw you pee, a long yellow stream arcing into the toilet. When I remember that, that’s the worst. There’s this strange feeling between my legs, as if I needed to go to the bathroom myself. But when I try, I can’t. There is just this awful tight, burning feeling that won’t go away.”
Miranda could not believe her own imagination. She knew that this had never happened, that this was pure fabrication. Yet the mingled shame and excitement were as real as the caress of the brocaded upholstery against the backs of her bare legs.
“You watched me masturbate! What a nasty girl you are, Lucy! You pretend to be so good and obedient, but you have a dirty, dirty mind!”
Miranda hung her head. “Yes, Big Daddy. I know.”
“Do you touch yourself when you have these feelings?” he interrogated, leaning forward in his chair. Miranda was suddenly frightened.
“No, never. I want to, but I don’t.”
“Honesty, Lucy, honesty.”
“Well—sometimes I stuff a pillow between my legs. I can’t help it, I have to do something. But I never use my hands…”
Big Daddy sat back in the chair and stroked his beard. Miranda’s heart beat ridiculously fast. “Lucy, you have been exceptionally naughty. Spying on me when I am engaged in my private pursuits! You look so sweet and innocent, but you have the makings of a little slut.”
“No, Big Daddy, I’m good most of the time. It’s only at night, in the summer…”
“Over my knee,” the distinguished gentleman barked. “Now.”
“You know that I am only doing this for your own good. I get no pleasure from chastising you.”
Like hell you don’t, thought Miranda, but she meekly obeyed his order.