Tag Archives: historical erotica

Guest blog: The Insatiable Jane Travers (book extract)

I am over the moon to bring you today’s guest blog – an extract from Isabelle Lauren’s sexy new book The Insatiable Jane Travers, which is out TODAY! You may have read Isabelle’s previous guest blog here before – relearning to have sex after a hysterectomy – so I’m properly thrilled to be able to bring you news of her book launch. It’s always exciting when fellow sex bloggers publish books, and doubly thrilling when I get to share sexy extracts with you all, like this one which includes some delightful tortured lust/longing and intense memories of the sex Jane Travers had the night before. Set in the roaring 20s, and featuring a lead character who is discovering her sexual self while trying to shed her restrictive upbringing, you can buy The Insatiable Jane Travers on Amazon (previous link) or from other booksellers here, and go check out Isabelle Lauren’s blog and Twitter – @RomanticIsa – too.

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Guest blog: How I fell in love with GoneWildAudio

This week’s guest blogger is here to talk about one of my current favourite things: audio porn! Ever since I started recording posts as audio, I’ve also been listening to more amazing audio work from other people, so when rmp792 got in touch with a view to writing about the GoneWildAudio community, I was really excited. Please welcome him and use the links at the bottom to explore more of his sexy work!

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Historical erotica take 2, and the inevitability of personal fantasy

Last week I wrote a bona-fide erotic story. One with two characters who definitely weren’t me, in a setting that wasn’t my lounge, partaking in a dirty fuck that I have never had myself. I very rarely write fictional stories. Of the nearly 400 posts on this blog, fewer than 1% of them are fictional.

But every now and then something in particular strikes me as gorgeously hot, and it’s something that isn’t possible to recreate in my life at that exact moment. Whether it’s sex with a stranger, a gang-bang of some kind, or the kind of sex that would require my own Tardis. This week (and last week and – thanks to my recent discovery of The Tudors – probably next week as well) the hot stuff comes wrapped in lace and frills. Tight stomachers, breeches, and hard leather riding boots. ‘My Lord’s and ‘Your Grace’s and posh people dismissing their hot servants with a casual wave of their hand.

Thing is, with any fantasy I have, it always seems to end up in the same place. Last week I wrote about a maid getting fucked by a duke – the cold barrier between two people of different ranks, and the easy and nonchalant way in which he shagged her, with the same proprietorial ease with which he’d order her to turn down his bed or scrub the fireplace.

And this one, despite the complete role reversal in terms of power, doesn’t fundamentally differ because… well… when I give my mind free reign to wander wherever it likes, it always pops back to a very similar place. Guy on top, girl getting used, urgent sweaty fucks performed for no reason other than a desperate desire.

Every now and then I get drawn into a discussion about whether you can shape your own sexual desires. Obviously you can’t change fundamentals, but some people assert that, by introducing yourself to new experiences or pushing yourself into new fantasies, you can mould your own fantasies into something different to what you’d normally go for. I strongly suspect you can’t. I certainly can’t. While I’ll embrace any number of filthy fucks, unusual fetishes, or brand new experiences, my core sexuality will never significantly change. From the first wank I ever had over the idea of pirates punishing a serving wench, to the last one I’ll have on my deathbed, I suspect the theme will remain:

Guy meets girl. Girl bends over. He uses her like that’s all she’s good for.

Now here’s the story.

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Tight corsets and stable boys – historical fantasy is the hottest

You know how you’ll go through phases in terms of what you fantasise about? Well, maybe not everyone does, but I do. One week I might be obsessed with the idea of locking eyes with a stranger on the tube, staying on the train with him until our carriage is empty at the end of the line, until – with a quick jerk of his head and a filthy smile – he invites me to sit down on his cock and ride him to the final stop. Other weeks I might need more guys to make the fantasy complete – three or four willing gentlemen who pop round my house to gangbang me on the sofa – that kind of thing.

Right now, though, I am obsessed with historical fucking. Snatched moments between princes and parlour-maids, gentlewomen and stable hands – frilly skirts being hoiked up to the waist and corsets yanked down to expose jiggling tits as someone’s fucked against the wall.
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