This site contains adult writing and topics. If you are under 18 or offended, angered or just don't like talking about sex, read no further.

Friday, April 27, 2007

Be Afraid, Be Very Afraid

I was reading something scary in "Writer's Digest" today. Chills ran up and down my spine!

Some publishers are saying they can't publish stories that have been posted on blogs. Blogs are becoming too recognized (Fuck, you wouldn't know that from the lack of comments on mine.) But, but...I want to publish here. I want to feel like someone out there is getting off from my dirty stories.

Personally, I think this sucks ass. I post my stories to get feedback and although I know I hear crickets when I go to my blogger, I still want to be able to post.

This leads me to tell you about my new find, This is an awesome sight folks, where I have created my own erotic writing group. You should all join up and share you dirty thoughts with me at You know you wanna...come on, everyone's doing it! ;-)

The article in WD said that private writing group sites, where one has to be a member to read, would not disclude the author like a "normal" blog. So sights like gather where you can make a private group or The Fish Tank where we can critique each other's work are still cool. So join me at gather or take a dip in the tank!

All is not lost.

Thursday, April 26, 2007


I am doing research on Persian culture in the Golden Age of Islam, specifically on the culutre of the women and am coming up blank. I had heard somewhere or read somewhere that the women during this time period were much more liberal than they are today.

One of the characters in my novel is a women from the Middle Ages that I want to be strong and independant. She is also foreign, and at the moment from Persia. I set her from this country because of this thing I read or heard, but can't verify. My lead character is facinated with all knowledge of other places and it is one of the reasons she is attracted to the Persian character. I know I am writing fiction, but I also want some sort of fact behind my fiction. Does anyone out there know a good book or a good website on the history of women in the middle ages, specifcally in Persia and Islam?

I was also inpired today to reach beyond my current outline. Perhaps a second novel? or maybe the story I have to tell is longer than what I have down.

Sunday, April 15, 2007

Sexy Sage Airwaves!

Just a quick note to those of you in listening range of radio station WFMPin Minneapolis/St. Paul --

Sage Vivant will be interviewed on the Lori and Julia Show at approximately 5:15 pm on Monday, April 16. They'll be talking about her book, YOUR EROTIC PERSONALITY, and of course, about her crazy job: writing customized erotic fiction! Hope you can tune in if the broadcast is in your area.

Wednesday, April 11, 2007


Monday, April 09, 2007

No good Mother-fuckers!

A hacker broke into our computer and destroyed all of my writing. AGAIN! ASSHOLES!

Two years ago I was infected with a virus, this time they found a way to break into the computer and alter all the files.

What the fuck!? is up with people? What are they just bored?

Well we fixed you mother-fuckers! This time I had back-up! I just really hate that we live in a world where some yahoo geek, who can't get it on with a living human being feels like he has to get off by fucking with my personal shit!


Sunday, April 08, 2007

Thursday, April 05, 2007

Sage Vivant's New Book Now Available

At last! I'm so happy to announce that YOUR EROTIC PERSONALITY:IDENTIFYING AND UNDERSTANDING YOUR SEXUAL SELF is officially available inbookstores everywhere!

If you want more out of s*x, crave insight into what you like and why, andeven learn about the person you're involved with, this book will help youdo that. Self-knowledge is power, and once you know what makes you tickand how to indulge it, your love life will naturally become morefulfilling. It can't help but do anything else.

The book begins with a quiz to help you identify which of twelve eroticpersonality types you are. The rest of the book dedicates a chapter todescribing each type and offering suggestions that will make that typeenjoy s*x to the greatest extent possible.Best of all, however, it delivers one consistent message. Whatever youlike is natural and healthy. It isn't any less sophisticated orenlightened than what anybody else needs for arousal. And that's a notionthat our bigger/better/faster/more culture frequently forgets -- much toeveryone's detriment.

Follow this link to buy the book from


I've created a site to give you a great introduction to the book:

Monday, April 02, 2007

Tits Down, Ass Up

Here's my latest bit of sizzling sex writing for your reading pleasure. Entered this in a contest at with a theme of body art. Let me know what you think...:-)

Tits Down, Ass Up (FF, oral)
Copyright © 2007 by Crystal Barela

“Where the fuck have you been, Cali?” Tony’s deep voice was muffled by how close he was bent over the chick in front of him. He needed glasses and I swear he didn’t get them so he could smell the smooth skin of his female clients as he applied ink to skin.

“Traffic,” I said. The back door shut behind me and I threw my gear in the corner. I ran my hands through my straight black hair to rid myself of helmet head.

“Shit, kid,” he said. “Why don’t you take the subway like the rest of the East Village?”

My wheels were pulled up in the alley behind the shop. The Softail with shiny chrome rims was the perfect reason for braving the streets of Manhattan. “Reputation.”

Tony snorted and said, “That one’s been waiting on you for more than an hour.” He gestured with his head to the front of the shop.

There were half a dozen girls sitting on the red vinyl in front of our shop window. Their tattooed backs and shoulders were the perfect draw for the curious window shoppers cruising by on the sidewalk out front.

“Lucy, who’s my first victim?” Our receptionist—I nearly laughed out loud at the formality of the title given to our single employee. She had taken the position for the free tats and the flow of ladies visiting the shop for my artistic attention.

“Tantra!” Lucy called out, as if our customers weren’t mere feet from her desk.

Was that name for real? I scanned the ladies, clicking the bar in my tongue against the back of my teeth. A nasty habit which I found to be a turn off when other women did it, but I somehow derived great pleasure in doing myself.


No answer. Not everyone believes in fashionably late.

The shop was silent when I opened the door the next morning. Truth was, I hadn’t gone to sleep the night before. Some might say that I shouldn’t be poking people with sharp objects then, but personally I thought a little overtime in the waking world made me more attuned.

Besides, Tony was in DC. His old lady’s kid was graduating from college. Marco was flying in from El Paso this afternoon to keep the empty chair filled for the next two weeks.

I flipped on the lights. The mirrored wall that ran the length of the shop was framed by thick red velvet drapes. The other walls were black and decorated with photos of all of our celebrity clients.

I paused in front of the picture of me and Jolie. Now those were some mother fucking hot lips. If I do recall, I thought, rocking back on the heels of my black leather boots, we’d held more than each other’s hands. Shit! Don’t believe me? This was before Brad, and truth be told, before Billy Bob. I’d only been eighteen at the time. Barely legal. I was Tony’s apprentice then and only able to touch her skin with my fingers. No matter how I had pleaded, Tony had not let me hold a needle.

I sat into the overstuffed chair, set my feet on the desk, and crossed my feet at the ankles. Lucy would try to kick my ass if she knew. She hadn’t come to the realization that this wasn’t her shop.

The first client under my name on Lucy’s clipboard: Tantra. There couldn’t be another woman with that name, even in Manhattan. Mid-week was usually slow and the mysterious Tantra was due—

The bells on the door chimed and I let the clipboard rest against my forehead, hiding in a few more seconds of silence. She was early.

“Cali! Baby!” Marco tilted back on the heels of his cowboy boots and held out his arms.

I hopped over the desk, and flew into his chest nearly knocking him off his feet. He pounded my back.

“You smell awesome,” I said. A musky cologne.

“Cigarettes,” he said with a sniff, not loosening his hold. “No time to go home and shower?”

“Fuck,” I said. “No time to be a gentleman?”
“Remember who you’re talking to.” Marco leaned back and peered down at me with the devil’s eyes. “Is she done?”

“Thirty-nine hours.” I undid the button fly of my Levis and tugged the hem of my fishnet tee to my braless breasts.

Koi. The Japanese consider them a symbol of energy and power. Chris O’Donnell, a genius with the needle, had tattooed the one swimming from between my legs. The length of the fish’s body wrapped around my hip, circled my waist and reappeared under my arm, the lips stopping to feed at my right breast. This masterpiece of color and grace had taken more than a year to complete and Marco had seen the design before he left for home last year.


“I know,” I said, running a hand down my ribcage. “I wish I could work naked.”

Marco laughed. “Me too.”


“Are you Cali?” Her voice was lush. Wet. My imagination sent my pussy swimming.

“Shop closes at midnight,” I called out from the back of the shop, regret in my voice. My back was to the door as I stuffed my face with a hotdog Marco had brought back from the street vendor. It was cold from earlier this evening, but there is nothing like a New York City frank.

“That’s not what the sign says,” she called back.

That voice. I wiped my mouth with a napkin. “Look, honey, Marco is gonna be here in the morning.”

“No, I want you to do it.”

The way she said it made my insides burn.

I turned.

Where I was lanky and all limbs, she was hips and thighs. I topped her by a good five inches. Her ass was in abundance and painted into her jeans. Her eyes were that somewhere between blue and green only found in nature, fringed with reddish blonde lashes, and looking at me like she could eat me up.

She took my hand, her sleeveless arm pale and bare of color. Her fingers were decorated in large chunky rings of jewel-colored cut glass.

“Maybe I could make an exception for…?” Was there a discreet way to check my breath for lingering hot dog odors?


“It’s you.”

She laughed. “It’s me.”

I took her hand. “I’ve been expecting you for about two weeks now.”


“A virgin?”

She raised and eyebrow and her lips twitched.

“Your skin, it’s bare? A virgin to the needle?” Although it would have been nice to have been present for the deflowering.

“Yes, no tattoos.”

“Well then, you’ve come to the right place,” I said, leading her over to my chair.

At the back of the shop I had the sketch she’d left last week on one of her many no-shows. I had thought twice about working on the transfer, considering Tantra’s track record of making appointments and breaking them, but it was an inspiring drawing. It had honestly been a turn-on to spend some time with the sketch.

I had done a tree of life before, but not of this size. The roots twisted into a Celtic circle pattern at the base and the trunk of the tree rose in a knotty line, its branches curling out to the sides about six inches up. Leaves clung to the branches. It was really quite beautiful. Expensive and time consuming too. It had been designed for a woman’s back.

“Turn around, baby.”

As she turned, Tantra lifted her shirt up over hear head. God, I love my job! I got a quick peek at her full, round breasts, tucked into black lace bra cups. This was one ripe woman. Hot.

“You know the lower back is one of the most painful places for a woman to get a tattoo?”

“Yes.” There was a thrill in her voice.

“And that this is gonna take at least three sittings?”

“You can’t do it all tonight?”

“It’s an eight hour job.”

“I’d pay extra.”

“You want color too?”

Tantra nodded. I walked toward the back of the shop, sketch in hand. The leaves on the branches were so delicate, gold and green. They seemed to move as if a breeze were blowing in the background.

Was I actually considering this? I hadn’t slept in more than twenty-four hours, and this wasn’t an easy job. I rubbed the back of my neck and looked down at Tantra, clutching her shirt beneath her beautiful breasts, the bits of lace not hiding the shadows of her nipples. She was worrying her lower lip with her teeth. One tooth was crooked. Sexy.

I patted the black vinyl of my chair and she hopped on board, her feet dangling in cute espadrille wedge sandals.

“Why is this tattoo important to you, honey?” Tantra’s back was to me. I unhooked her bra. She sucked in her breath as I lifted her thick red curls from her shoulders and secured them with a hair clip on top her head.

“My sister, she drew this,” she whispered in that sultry voice. “We’re twins.”

If that didn’t put a wet spot in my jeans.

“In a couple of months I’m going to see her in Ireland.”

“Unsnap your jeans.” The drag of the zipper and a shimmy of hips revealed the white of her skin to the crack of her ass. Was she wearing panties?

I covered my palms with shave oil and spread it over Tantra’s shoulder blades. Her skin was pale and smooth, except for where her bra had left red lines. I lingered a bit too long, massaging the marks away. She sighed, and I found I was in danger of losing my professionalism.

The crinkle of the plastic being torn from the razor and then the smooth swipe of blade across her opalescent skin made my lips ache. Gently, I lay the transfer on her back, and then wet it with a sponge, dabbing at the smooth canvas of her back. I lifted a corner of the paper and drew it across her back.

A sigh tinged with sex filled my shop as I pulled the paper free.

Looked good. Too good. I handed the mirror over her shoulder and pointed her in the direction of the wall. “Check the placement, sugar.” Get a grip, Cali. Work before pleasure.
Tantra went over to the mirrored wall and held up the hand mirror to look over her shoulder.

“Perfect!” she squealed, with a little hop. She turned to the right, then left, and all my eyes saw were her breasts, now bare and free. Nipples puckered from the night air coming through the back door teasing my eyes.

I rubbed my eyes. Tired and horny, that’s what I was.

“Tantra, baby, I think we should reschedule.” Sleep would help me to concentrate on my art and not her ass.

“No!” She bounced over to me and took my hands in hers.

“I haven’t slept in days and—”
She put my hands on her tits and the thought of putting her off was gone.

“Another night won’t hurt.”

“You have a point,” I said, massaging her breasts. I leaned down, her face nearing mine.

A kiss, two nips.

Shook my head, took a step back. “Okay beautiful,” I said. “Tits down, ass up.”


Silent tears were running down Tantra’s face, which belayed the soft sighs and moans that escaped each pass of my tattoo gun. She was one of those that liked the pain and although I was known to have a gentle hand, she didn’t want it. I was surprised she wasn’t covered in tats and piercings.

With every gasp I had to force myself not to throw my tattoo gun aside and fuck her. The scent of her arousal was driving me mad.

“Nearly done, baby,” I said. A lie to myself. I had finished the Celtic knot and still had the entire tree to do. The goal was to finish the outline tonight. We were only a half hour in. I wiped my brow, bent and adjusted the knob on my tattoo machine. I was a professional.

Tantra gave her ass a wiggle pressing her pussy into the vinyl. “More Cali,” she pleaded.
Not gonna make it. “Be still, sugar.” My voice was harsh, my throat dry.

I sprayed the inky skin with water and wiped it with the towel, now discolored with black ink. I spread Vaseline across the tat. Looked good.

“Why’d you want me to do you?” I asked.

Wipe, spray, tat.

“Charlotte Scott.”

My hand wavered. Charlotte? Charlotte had a thing for pain too. More than the little the buzz my gun had.

Wipe, spray, tat.

Her ass had been in the exact same spot as Tantra’s pussy. Three in the morning. Clothing optional. I’d worn nothing but a strap-on. Nearly fucked Charlott’s pussy raw, right after piercing her clit. Now that’s pain.

“You trying to tell me something, sugar?” I drew my hand along the small of her back, the trunk of the tree taking shape.

“Breath deep,” Tantra said.

Wipe, spray, tat. Breathe.

“Smell that?” she said. “My pussy’s been hot for you since Charlotte told me how she got her piercing.”

I placed a hand on the small of her back. “Suck it up darlin’,” I said.

Tantra looked over her shoulder and caught my eyes.


Oh shit.

“I am so wet.”

Oh fuck. I closed my eyes trying to find my strength of will. “What do you want more, sugar?” I whispered. “This tattoo or my face in your pussy?”

Tantra stood and turned around, hooking her thumbs in the waistband of her jeans. The jeans shimmied down her thighs and I holstered my gun. She kicked the jeans aside.

My smooth moves were out the door. All I could think of was tasting every inch of her body. Her lips were plump and sweet. Her neck soap scented. I buried my face between her breasts, nosing around like an animal. The sweat where the soft mounds met her body was salty and bold.

My synthetic gloved fingers slipped through her sopping slit. One, two fingers found a home in her hot hole. I forced her back onto the table, sure to press her tat into the table. She cried out, but her pussy squeezed my fingers.

Tantra clutched my head to her breasts and I devoured her hard nipples. Biting, bruising suction. Her hips bucked and she urged me lower.

I nibbled my way over her soft round stomach, past her belly button, and into the thick curly hair covering her snatch. Her swollen pussy lips glistened.

My hand pinned her to the tattooing chair. My fingers dove in and out, piercing her hungry hole. Her lips became redder and the skin around her thighs flushed.

My tongue circled her clit. A third finger wedged its way into her hungry cunt.

She panted, pushing her hips against me.

The muscles in her thighs squeezed my cheeks.

My tongue bar gave her a kiss.

Fingers yanked my hair.

Tantra screamed.

Tears wet her cheeks as her pussy bathed my face.

Jesus. I pulled my bruised fingers free and sat back on my heels. I undid my fly. Just a couple of strokes and I’d be with her.

“No,” she gasped.

I froze. Not sure I was ready to take orders yet. I just wanted to get off.


I did, and my jeans fell to my ankles. My cunt pulsed.

“Take off your shirt.”

I lifted the hem of my tee and watched her come to me on wobbly legs.

“So beautiful,” she said. Tantra traced a finger from the mouth of the koi sucking my breast. She followed the orange and gold scales around my torso. Her lips repainted the bold lines of the graceful fins on my shoulder blades with soft kisses and wet licks. They followed the curling trail of ink between my legs and set me free.

Tantra tapped my clit then plunged her tongue into my folds, releasing my koi. The fish burst from my skin and into the air, swimming in circles around my head as I came in dizzying waves.
Tantra stood and lay, tits down, on the chair, her beautiful ass bare.

I buttoned my fly and picked up a fresh white rag. The work I had done earlier was bleeding and the skin red.

“I’m sorry, sugar,” I said.

“Didn’t feel a thing.”

I placed a tender kiss on the abused flesh at the base of her spine and promised myself I would stop thinking about pussy.

Tantra sucked in her breath and I squeezed my thighs together.

I sprayed her skin with water and washed the smooth flesh carefully before turning on my tattoo machine.

“Ready for a rough ride, baby?”

“You promise to kiss it all better?”

The ache she had just eased began to spread through my lower body. “And then some.”