Some of you may have read my free novella, Cataclysm Blues. I always intended to turn this into a full story and in fact I plan a trilogy. The demon-stitched are coming, along with Sheriff Rose and Talon. I'm pretty sure the ending of the novella will have to change for it to become the beginning of the first novel.
If you haven't read this book and would like to, go here where I show the links. Possibly Amazon may have reverted to making it 99c in the USA.
I'm at the planning stage and about to start writing. As soon as I do the last edits on Intimidator, I'll be typing away. Very excited to finally be getting this one moving!
As sheriff of Rusted Rattlesnake, Rose is used to being on top. Until the day she meets Talon, a bad-ass drifter on a motorcycle who shows her that being on the bottom can be loads of fun.
Adults only excerpt - 18 years plus
I've had such a lot of feedback on facebook that I thought it worth putting this here.
My WIP that I'm writing. To give you all a head's up that I'm planning to self-pub a story that skirts non or dubious consent. Title: Take Me, Break Me
Planned release date - End of February. I'm about 4/5 ths of the way through writing this.
The first paragraph:
This was so pretty. The contrast to what we were doing made me want to laugh in a slightly demented way. Below the cafe waves washed up the beach then retreated, leaving foaming ripples. Diamond-lace reflections from the gentled parts of the blue blue sea blinded me – jaw-dropping scenery – and here I’d just signed a document that gave the man opposite permission to mind fuck me into the next century.
Jodie is scraping the barrel trying to stay afloat. An idea arrives that could rescue her finances and bring her together in a kinky way with a man she never gave up on. So why not use it? Capture fantasies rule Jodie’s eBook. Re-enacting one in a documentary would surely be irresistible viewing to millions of women?
But Jodie and Klaus discover that underneath an ordinary man dark desires may lurk. What will win in the end? The man and lover, or the monster?
“I agree. This isn't working.”
Pure agreeable statement, but she rocked back slightly before she nodded.
“Nice is bad, Jodie? You want mind fuck. You want mean. You want things you dream about. You have no idea."
Her eyes widened.
"Starting now. The rules are gone. I make my own rules.”
“Uh. What? They were your rules.”
I took down the list from the door and held it, slowly tapping the laminated paper against my leg. “No. They were not.”
After unfolding the flaps of the cardboard box, I tucked the list down inside and pulled out the two gags. “Rule one. You don’t talk unless I say you can.” As her mouth opened, with the buckles trapped in my fingers, I dropped both gags into view, and dangled them. “Talk and I use these.”
Like magic, her mouth clicked shut. Now I had her attention. That had worked. I was perhaps as stunned as she looked. She touched her tongue tip to her upper lip as I stood before her and she kept her gaze swinging from the gags to my face. I had a feeling I’d never had a woman so rapt in what I said. Addictive. The pulse of excitement had centered at my groin. Nothing I could do about it. I already knew that looking at women in bondage revved my engine. But I’d never done more than look at pictures.
Now I had an inkling that anything where I got to hold the reins, really hold the reins, was like oxygen to a man in the throes of suffocation. Incredible.
I ran through my epiphany, convincing myself as much as her. Bluntness was called for.
“My conclusions. You asked me to do this because you still want me in your bed. You want me to fuck you.” Her gasp, I answered by swinging the ball gag. She uttered no words. “Somewhere in your plans, you hoped. The rules, I made up those in line with what I knew you’d be thinking. You knew I’d not step beyond, or not much.
“This,” I swept my arm across, “This room was your idea. Your rules. Lock me up. Make me yours for a while, but not too rough or dangerous because that isn't in my rules.” I cocked an eyebrow. “Yes?”
Though she frowned and shook her head I went on. It didn't matter if she deluded herself.
“You imagined some safe little love affair, with some kink on the side? Doesn't work that way. Either you hand over control, or I walk. No documentary. Nod if you agree.”
I waited. I could almost hear the clocks ticking.
When she nodded slowly, my heart kicked back in. If it had beaten at all for those last few seconds, I was unaware.
“Good. This room is no longer your prison. The house is secure and private enough. You’re coming upstairs as long as you behave.”
No protests. Good. For a woman who liked having an opinion on everything this was exceptional. I could have walked on a cloud, I was so hyper-aware of everything she did. Were her lips fuller, her cheeks flushed, her breathing faster? I thought so. But she didn't know what I intended.
“Let me point out what could have happened if this stupid plan had gone wrong. If you picked a less restrained, a less sensible man. You've given me a hundred filthy dirty ideas about what I could do to you. I never knew what depths my mind could plunge to. Now I do. if anyone was mindfucked so far, it was me. Another man would follow through. You think these gags are bad? This one with the red ball is simple, it just stops you talking.” I laid the other, metal and leather gag across my palm. “This one is a spider gag. With this in, you can’t close your mouth and your mouth can be fucked. Do you have any idea of the things on the internet? Wait.” I held up my hand. “I guess you do, from what’s in those books you read.”
I bent and rested my hands on my knees. Mind fuck. This I could accomplish.
“You want a list? How about the list of things a man could do to you in this situation… I could make you wash my dishes naked with a gag in. I could tie you up, cut your clothes off and just stare at you all day – just because I could. I could make you be a piece of furniture and ignore you. Humiliating? Yes. I could train you to be an anal slut. I could fuck your ass all day long. I could collar you and make you crawl around on the floor like a dog at a convenient height for blow jobs. I could share you with the man down the street, stick needles in your nipples and use them and some string to fasten you to eyebolts in the ceiling. Want to try that one? And at the end of it all, if I was the worst sort of man, I could kill you and bury you out there on the beach.” I swung my arm up to point. “Maybe no one would ever find you.”
Now she was truly speechless, maybe even scared. Served her right. I watched the little swallows she did for a count of five.
“But I’m not going to. I’m your friend. Remember that, no matter what I do.” I smiled one-sided but I’m sure it didn't reach my eyes. The eyes are the mirror to the soul and right then my soul was very dark.
Then I squatted down in front of her, a couple of feet away, reached out and ran the very tip of my forefinger along her plump bottom lip. “My rules. Open.”
A second’s hesitation at most. She shivered and her mouth parted. Mind fuck, here we come.
“Good. Jodie.” Then I very deliberately held up the spider gag, slipped it between her teeth, pulled her head forward, and held her there while I buckled it. Hair made a great anchor point. I slid my splayed fingers into the roots and tilted her head back then I added a rule. “Second rule. You do my dishes whenever I say. You wear the spider gag. You don’t speak unless I say. But first…” Eyes locked on hers, I advanced one finger into her mouth and stroked her tongue. And she let me.
Had I hypnotized her? She did nothing but stare back. What I wouldn't have given to fuck her mouth right then and there.
Copyright Cari Silverwood 2012. All rights reserved. No part of these publications may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of the author.
Though I've put this on other people's blogs, I figured it was time to put it on my own. So I can find it again. Next year I'll forget where I wrote this otherwise.
I have a new book out called The Dom with a Safeword which I co-wrote with two other authors.
Here’s what the book’s about:
Late at night, on an amateur ghost hunt, Sabrina and her best friend Q are caught trespassing by the gorgeous, blonde Jude. The embers of attraction between them sizzle when they discover Jude’s kinks match their own. Jude is a Dom on his last summer of freedom before starting the prison sentence that is med school. Q is a badass bi switch who knows what she wants, and for years it’s been her cute, doe-eyed straight friend Sabrina. But the only way for Q into Sabrina’s heart and panties may be with Jude’s fist wrapped in her hair.
Domming the bratty Q and mischievous Sabrina isn’t going to be easy but Jude relishes the challenge. At the end of the summer, will they find a way to stay together when everything is tearing them apart?
So it’s a BDSM contemporary romance with a ménage and Mff sex scenes as well as quite a few girl on girl kissing and sex scenes.
People often ask how the three of us came to write The Dom with a Safeword – after all, it’s uncommonly difficult to get along with one other writer enough to do a book, let alone three!
We three became friends first - I already knew Leia Shaw, of course, as we wrote 31 Flavors of Kink together. And when we discovered that Sorcha was a good writer, despite being new and a bit clumsy with the grammar, we considered doing a book together (Her writing is now awesome, by the way). We all wanted to try contemporary fiction but all of us were more comfy with fantasy writing. Things rolled out from there.
It became quite simple for each of us to slip into one character and we alternated chapters as the points of view (POV) changed from one person to the next. We came to know our characters so well that we would often alter the dialogue or body language someone else wrote in. I was the sexpert (lol) as I seem to write those well, and Leia was the US dialogue and humor coach.
I won't say who wrote what, though I have mentioned it elsewhere. You can guess. We critiqued each scene anyway, and swapped, and so things merge to a degree. I also wrote the sex and some of the kissing scenes told from Leia's character's POV.
So there are three characters and each chapter is labeled with the name of the character whose POV it is.
We figured out the people and plotted the story first, though that did alter a bit as the story progressed. Mostly we wrote it in time sequence, but toward the end we overlapped so as to get it finished.
This story’s characters are based loosely on people we know and their relationships. One of the things we wanted to do with this book was to make sure there was a hearty dose of humor and fun woven in. Because really, who doesn’t see some fun in the world at some time? Sex should be enjoyable, and hell, BDSM too, however you get your kicks. A lot of Doms in fiction seem to have lost their funny bone somewhere down the back of the couch. Hence Jude was born. The man knows how to have fun and how to, mostly, keep up with two of the brattiest brats around. And if he misses the punishment mark sometimes, he makes them pay for it later, if he remembers. He’s fair yet not infallible.
The story isn’t at all slapstick and silly though, and there’s a lot of sadness toward the end. We hope it makes for a great balance.
Amazon buylink - http://www.amazon.com/The-Dom-Safeword-ebook/dp/B009X1YBSE/
All Romance buylink - https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-thedomwithasafeword-983072-146.html
With Rough Surrender almost released, I've sent out a newsletter to fans with a nice fat excerpt and also a taste of my short story, Rusted Rattlesnakes and Lubricated Love, a teaser for my next writing project, Cataclysm Blues - Awakening, Book One.
If you ordered my newsletter don't expect a great fanfare of trumpets and the descent of angels from the heavens. Apart from the fact that my stories are highly erotic BDSM - so no angel will come within a mile without self-combusting - apart from that, I also suck a lot at newsletter writing.
I rely on the attached stories to grab you round the throat, slap you around, and roughly encourage you to buy the book. My co-author and crit partner, Leia Shaw has just hired a publicist to do her promo, well I need a newsletterist! I have Mail Chimp, a system that purports to turn you into THE GREATEST newsletter person EVER!!!!
But I stared at all the buttons and ran away.
They send me emails now and then telling me what to do. I file them. Like I file all weird stuff. One day...one day I will read thee. With welding glasses on and a pair of tongs. Things like that drive me batty.
BUT I did do a newsletter. Expect one. If you wanted it. Read the darn thing. I sweated blood, and maybe even some actual sweat, writing that thing.
Here's my website for the book. Go look. Go drool. Go do something like jump up and down so I feel the floor rumble. It'd be nice. I promise it'll be fun. http://roughsurrender.weebly.com/
Orgasms however, are not guaranteed. I reserve those for the book.
Out June 4th from Lyrical Press!
Picture this. I’ve just come away from commenting on a post about how Doms in BDSM stories are often portrayed as bullies. I’ve said what I truly believe -- poured my emotions about these stories into the comment. I’ve said how I strive to make the Doms in my stories real men who are willing to admit their mistakes, men who care for their partners, men who can love.
So an hour or two later I’ve penned a couple of thousand more words of Steel Dominance and I get up to stretch, feeling quite pleased. But my conscious subconscious won’t leave me alone. Not the true deep down, I ain’t saying anything intelligible subconscious but the part of me that pokes me endlessly when something in a story is wrong. Then when I ignore it, next morning it drags out a baseball bat to add to the torture and emphasize its point.
Finally, head in hands (maybe because of that baseball bat), I admit to myself that I’ve done it again -- written an arrogant prick into the story.
Why does this happen? I try so hard to make them somebody I’d love to wake up next to, or even better, be woken up by, then licked by, kissed by…you get the picture. But, instead of a man momma would be proud of, I get a man who’s likely to sexually molest momma if she happens to be good-looking and spritely enough.
I hate arrogant pricks, don’t I?
But then again 40 percent of women have rape fantasies and when you consider that, who but an arrogant prick is going to fulfill that fantasy? I don’t write rape of course, or I don’t aim to. Yet when these guys arrive, that is what the scene often reminds me of -- sexual assault. A reader I’ve emailed back and forth with, who also writes, told me one of the flaws in her writing is that she’s always wanting the big climactic events to happen SOON. Well that’s how I am with the sex scenes sometimes. So I end up with men who’d be at home on the hit parade down at the police station.
My naughty side tends to sneak these guys past me by making sure the women don’t protest about the arrogant pricks’ sexual advances. So now, not only do I have a man who makes Jack the Ripper look gorgeous, I have a female doormat.
What do I do with these imposters who creep into my stories? I delete them. I do the metaphorical equivalent of whacking them over the head with a shovel (my baseball bat is taken), toppling them into a crate, and nailing the lid shut. Then I bury them somewhere out back inside my mind.
Other authors have plot bunnies hopping about nibbling pseudo grass and bobbing their tails. I have a graveyard of arrogant pricks. I’m not sure if they make good fertilizer or not, but I’m trying. And if you, like me, just had a terribly rude image pop into your head, you have a dirty mind. Welcome to the club. Pull up a seat, and grab a shovel -- the merlot and chardonnay and beer are in the fridge. So throw a plot bunny on the BBQ and get comfy. Another one of those dickheads will wander by soon and we can get busy serial shoveling.
This is the first novel I’ve completed since I had my first book, Three Days of Dominance published back in June this year. Luckily I had two other stories already done by then, one of which, Rough Surrender, has a late release in April 2012, so my big hiccup in writing hasn’t been as awful as it might have been.
Some of you may already know how much being plunged into the maelstrom (love that word) of promo has spun me around. Just plain having people to talk to about my writing and (BIG ‘and’) having reviews and sales info out there to stare at has become addictive. To succeed at writing in any genre you have to get books out there.
Since it only took me six weeks to write Iron Dominance, a book I’m very proud of, it has been quite odd to have taken something like five months to get this one done. I’m now happy with a story that started out as one I had to do to shake off the ‘fear of failure’ bug.
I decided this one, Lust Plague, would be as fun as I could make it. I’ve used my pre-existing steampunk world from Iron Dominance with all those airships and wonderful weaponry and mechanical contraptions. I threw in a plot where a tear in reality allowed a foreign god to leak in and aimed at an ending with a sacrificial virgin (well, a recent virgin anyway) and a stone beast with a double phallus for some strange and slightly ghastly action.
Hmmm. *crumples up paper and tosses it* The gods idea totally screwed up the story and made it just awful to write. Too much room to play in for me and it changed my steampunk setting in some icky cringeworthy way.
The ending with the big sacrifice where the hero saves the lady…wrong also. For the strong, independent and heroic woman I chose for this story, Kaysana, that ending just never let her DO anything. *tosses more crumpled paper*
Zombies came into my head and wouldn’t leave. Not sure why. Maybe Amber Green gave me the idea as she’s doing a lesbian zombie series with other authors. The subconscious is a funny thing. I can’t recall where the idea came from. But it stayed. It gnawed on my toes and maybe my brain until I gave in.
I promptly let them eat one of my old characters and he became a wolf called Cadrach with less speaking (OK none) and way more purpose. Plus now you can pat him if you make friends first. The zombies gave me a new ending and let me truly create a romance. I found out I like blowing away zombies in an over the top steampunk way. The final pages are littered with smoking zombie corpses. Though the smoke does clear after a bit so Sten and Kaysana can sit down and sort out if they love each other.
So…I ended up with what is now a story I like. It’s fun, sexy and has loads of action. Loads of dominance and submission with some bondage, though not as creatively unusual as in Iron Dominance -- after all Sten and Kaysana are dodging zombies. Running and shooting cramps anyone’s bondage style, even when you’re as unstoppable and laidback as Sten.
I call this my lust-laden zombie-killing extravaganza. Here’s a little peek at the action.
I’m popping my Six Sentence Sunday cherry tomorrow too. Time to get this blog on the road.
Snippet from Lust Plague
Sten stepped close then went around her, checking the ropes, feeling up and down her limbs, undoing and slipping off the goggles, taking it slow when some of her hair caught in the strap.
He went behind her. His hand, warm and calloused and big, settled around her throat. The fingers almost touched. She swallowed, felt how close he gripped her, and shuddered. Heat rolled through her body.
“Yes,” he murmured, speaking an inch from her ear. “I’ve got you now. Gods, you tempt me.” His body moved in close. Cloth whispered as his shirt brushed against her bustier. Her butt was naked though and only his trousers separated her skin from his, and her bottom from the length of his cock nestling between her cheeks.
Her breaths turned ragged. Why am I reacting like this? The answers escaped her, fluttering away like moths in the wind.
“I hear you, Kaysana.” His tongue licked across her ear lobe, light, ephemeral. A frisson skittered down to her stomach.
Anger squirmed into being, twisted like a knife -- that her own self, her own body, betrayed her. She steadied, sucked in a tremulous breath.
Does this revolutionary idea sending you running off screaming and waving your arms as if a zombie attack is imminent? Can you see yourself picking up a book with an ugly hero? Would you rather kiss a zombie than read about a guy with zits smooching the heroine?
I ’m not talking real life here. So puh-leese don’t throw things at me. I know we’re not all model material and I regularly wear a paper bag at the supermarket so as not to scare the customers.
Moving on… This is a common gripe of readers -- handsome, shiny heroes who are like sculptures in manly flesh, all hairless and muscular with an abdomen you could snuggle up to for eternity while purring happily, and licking…mustn’t forget the licking. And don't get me started on the length of their magnificent nine inch cocks that in a pinch can be used to decapitate villains or rip open beer cans.
I’d have to say I’m guilty of writing in such men, though sometimes I do leave the exact dimensions of the manly appendages unsaid. Imagination is king in a book. Readers like to exercise it every so often and an author spoonfeeding us every single detail is like eating cold porridge after a while.
I’d also say that faced with such a man in reality, I’d be looking at those abs and wondering if you could play them like a xylophone. Too perfect is a downer. Give me some wrinkles, some evidence that the man has lived and done more than visit the gym and polish his pecs on a daily basis.
What would be the line that is uncrossable though? Pimples? Bad breath and missing teeth? Baldness (noooo, I like my bald guys!). Is there a line at all or is it just a matter of ‘does the author have the talent and cojones to pull it off?’
Of course beauty, or ugliness, is in the eye of the beholder. A common perception is that publishers demand these Adonis types but I think authors can get away with a far from perfect main man if he appeals to the reader and rocks the lady’s socks (or stockings, corset, g-string and fuck-me shoes) off. I’ve seen delectable men written who are missing limbs or blind. Way to go authors! You’ve given me food for thought.
Maybe this is the new trend? Imperfect men -- physically imperfect that is -- we all know and love men with tortured souls. So now it’s time for erotic romance to embrace those with tortured bodies. Or at the very least, those with bodies in need of a pedicure, and the attention of a team of plastic surgeons.
Not that I’m letting those surgeons and beauty therapists near my new men. Stay as you are guys. I’ve got my shotgun out and locked and loaded -- um…can you do that with shotguns? And while I’m waiting for the therapists and surgeons to launch their assault, I’m off to blow away some tea party zombies.
go HERE for zombies
Here’s a game thrown at us BDSM authors by Lesli Richardson, who obviously likes her men with a few bits missing too…noses, eyes, arms, just not the pecker. Leave the pecker be. Please.
Like a taste of BDSM instead? Click on the BDSM authors Playroom link over there on the right.
This blog started out as a way for me to discuss the things that bother me as a writer -- words, characters, why some women scream when they orgasm, do zombies get dandruff. Simple as that.
For me it’s no longer a matter of How to write but rather how to get my mind into a state where I CAN write. I know I can write. I have 2 lovely books out there and published, of which I’m very proud, and a third due out next year of which I’m exceptionally proud. Parts of it need knocking into shape but so long as I can shovel my brains back into my head in time it may turn out to be my little masterpiece.
You see not only do I procrastinate but I also have fear of failure and the two go together so fricking well. I’ve succeeded in weaning myself off Goodreads and now I’ve found another group where we discuss BDSM books until the cows come home. Damn you all. The cows that is. So I have to wean myself off that too. LOL
Professional writers can do 3 to 4 thousand words a day. And I’ve done so in the past. On a good day I can write forever. Or see forever. I live on a mountain. So that’s my goal. But they have to be good words. Ugh. Fear of failure arrives. Now if I can only kick it aside. Think I’ll give it the pet name of FOF. Maybe that way I can collar it and leash it, and tie it to a bench and spank it.
So, onward to writing -- discussing my characters. My current WIP (work in progress ) is nearing the end and my heroine, Kaysana, has decided to do something that makes her unlikeable. I gave her a lovely Dom man and she’s rejecting him because of family honor and her career. Sten is a very huggable hunk who can easily handle hordes of ravening raised men (my evil guys with fiery orange eyes and a taste for rapine and killing) and she rejects him? I’m worried it’ll tarnish his Dom image. Then again, I look at real life and how many women have ditched a man because it’ll trash their career? Oodles and oodles I would imagine.
What she’s done is sensible, and it makes me want to grab her and say, “You stupid stupid woman!” So for her TSTL stands for Too Stupid to LIKE.
I need to vent.
Come here little FOF. Get on that bench and show me your ass. And no you’re not orgasming. Really, how many other people’s FOFs ever orgasm?
WHACK. Count baby, count.
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Copyright Cari Silverwood 2011. All rights reserved. No part of these publications may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of the author.
Cari Silverwood is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for sites to earn advertising fees by advertising and linking to Amazon.com.
Cari Silverwood is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling writer of kinky darkness or sometimes of dark kinkiness, depending on her moods and the amount of time she's spent staring into the night.
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