Note: if you’re reading a story called ‘monster cock fantasies’ you can expect some pretty huge dicks in the following post, but please do not take this to mean you have to have a huge dick to be sexy – all kinds of dicks can be sexy. Be aware too that this fantasy/story involves some elements of sexual pain and elements of non-consent. Fantasies allow us to explore things that we would never want to do in real life, and I am a total slut for this kind of fantasy…
“I gave in around six in the morning, and came all over my stomach thinking about fucking you bent over the bed and digging my fingernails into your tits.”
Today’s guest blogger – Catey – runs a seriously lovely sexy words Tumblr, where she collects smutty quotes from literature. And as you can tell from her guest blog below, she’s pretty amazing at telling dirty stories herself…
The other night he turned to me, as I was on the verge of sleep, and asked:
“Will you tell me a story?”
“Mmrrgh,” I replied. “Tired.”
“Go on,” he said. “One of your dirty bedtime stories. Tell me one.”
As a purveyor of dirty blog porn, I have an inherent bias towards masturbatory material that involves words instead of pictures. Bottom line: I want more people to read more porn.
Below are two quotes from books I’m reading at the moment. Which one would you most like to rub one out to?
“Obediently, I turn, and my heart is thumping, desire instantly replacing unease, coursing through my blood and settling dark and yearning, low, low in my belly. He scoops my hair off my back so it hangs down my right side, curling at my breast. He places his index finger at the nape of my neck and achingly slowly drags it down my spine, his fingernail grazing my skin.”
“I bring up a porcelain pot and place it upon my knees, the abbot backs towards me, stoops, I press his anus, pry it open, and, to be brief, agitate it in every way I think to hasten his evacuation. It takes place, an enormous turd fills the bowl, I offer it to its author, he seizes it, precipitates himself upon it, devours it, and discharges after fifteen minutes of the most violent flogging which I administer upon the same behind that shortly before had laid such a splendid egg for his breakfast.”
It won’t surprise you to read that these both come from very different books. Book 2 is ‘120 Days of Sodom’ by the inestimably disgusting Marquis de Sade, and Book 1 is ’50 Shades of Grey’ by the inestimably romantic E.L. James.
Those who have read the first book will know that it’s a fairly mainstream erotic novel, documenting one woman’s discovery of bondage and submission, as she gets drawn further into a sexy romance with an incomprehensibly wealthy businessman. Those who have read the second book will probably still be trying to make the nightmares stop.
I’m a little bit annoyed by 50 Shades of Grey – probably not for the reasons people think. I don’t care that it’s a bit fluffy, or that its wide-eyed shock at the idea of spanking ignores the fairly mainstream nature of the practice. What I really care about is the sheer number of people who have pushed it at me and gone “Hey, GOTN, write a scathing blog post about this!”
50 Shades of Grey is good
I’m going to say it loudly and clearly – 50 Shades of Grey is good. It’s not something I am deeply absorbed by, nor is it something that has led me to slick my knickers and knock a quick one out before bed. But it’s not the tedious drivel-fest that angry people had led me to expect.
There are some parts of the book that, although not written in a way that gets me off, still evoke certain things that can spark my imagination. Right at the beginning our heroine (Anastasia, since you asked) nearly steps out into the road, and our wealthy be-suited hero (Christian) pulls her into his arms. She stays there for a while, trembling and willing him to kiss her.
“Pah!” You cry. “What shite is this? I thought it was a dirty book – why am I reading about a woman in love crying out for a romantic smooch?”
You’re not – you’re reading about a man so dominant and controlling that he can have a woman throbbing with fucklust in the middle of the street. And he is so fucking good – so in control and hard and arrogant and domly – that he makes her throb and yearn by not doing anything at all.
I’ve been in just this situation with dominant guys. The waiting, the desperation, the occasional moans of frustration while a controlled and controlling man decides what he wants to do to you. He might beat you then walk away. Tie you down, sit on your chest and then stroke his cock just inches from your gaping, hungry mouth. He might bend you over and rub the tip of it right over your clit, pushing the end ever so slightly into you, holding you down as you try to push back, wanting him to push the full length of his dick into your throbbing, aching wet cunt.
OK, so the scene in the book doesn’t feature actual cock, and if it featured actual cunt Anastasia would refer to it cringingly as her ‘sex’, but there’s something there that’s hot nonetheless. Although not explicit it conjures a feeling that has so far made thousands upon thousands of readers shudder inside, and ache with a desperate need to be touched.
50 Shades of Grey is not for you
Did I crack one off to 50 Shades? No. At least not yet – I’m only halfway through. But the reason I didn’t is because, as I said above, it’s not for me. I rub one out primarily to cock pictures, videos of dudes wanking and my own sordid and repulsive imagination. So it’s not written with people like me in mind, and if you’re reading this blog, it’s probably not written for you either.
There’s an excellent passage where our dominant, wealthy hero takes Anastasia through a list of soft and hard limits – he asks what he can do to have her panting but not phoning the police. She says yes to spanking, no to anal fisting, but ‘maybe’ to buttsex. And that sums it up perfectly:
50 Shades of Grey is not a book for people who crack one off to sex blogs – 50 Shades is a book for people who say ‘maybe’ to buttsex.
Although I wince at some of the phrasing, although I am embarassed reading it on the train because I don’t want to be seen as a girl who might giggle at the word ‘penis’, although it’s essentially the Twilight of the porn world, I still don’t want to be rude about 50 Shades. Because as long as some people find it hot and wank to it, it’s done its job well.
50 Shades vs the Marquis de Sade
Some people will read erotica that you find cheesy and saccharine. Others will read filth so foul it’ll blow your mind. I like to think (if anyone’s got a lucrative book deal to offer) that I fall somewhere in the highly-marketable area between the two.
My point is that porn is incredibly personal, and it makes me a bit uncomfortable that so many people are pointing and laughing at a book that, for some, could represent their first foray into literary filth.
I like that it exists, because it gives those who like it the opportunity to read it, and it gives people like us, who might have more honed and explicit tastes, the opportunity to reject it on the way to a different bookshelf. But I don’t want to mock it because for those who love it, it’s a very personal glimpse into their fantasies. By all means express an opinion, but delivering a scathing critique could cripple their arousal and leave them feeling cold and pathetic. I don’t want anyone to dip into porn only to be told that their specific taste in filth is laughably wrong, and they shouldn’t bother.
Personally I want to read something much more sordid and direct – I want to read about girls crying with lust as they’re pounded by teams of angry, horny men. I want words like ‘encunted’ and ‘spunk’, and I want porn that takes me from arousal to disgust and then back again until I wonder if I should be arrested.
But over and above all this I want to see more people getting comfortable with their sexual desires, and being able to discuss those desires without being torn to shreds by more experienced perverts who call their fantasies mediocre. Whether they’re braving the horrors of de Sade or flirting with 50 Shades of Grey, I just want more people to read more porn.