The Raunch Review: Book 30

Quality Street have started wrapping their chocolates in paper instead of shiny plastic. When you open up a tub now, it feels like a bit of a let down. All those dull pastel shapes dumped into a purple plastic octagon waiting to be scoffed. Maybe, they should get rid of the fucking tub and melt it down into something useful. Like a bendy bottom smacker. The tins used to be well good for keeping cakes alive, but they got shot of them long ago. The plastic tub is another sort of single-uselessness and it feels like they are putting the blame on us, the chocolate eating public, for being too greedy. Those fucking tubs can’t be ‘easily recycled’, which basically means they can’t be bloody recycled. There must be something you can use the empty shell for. I Googled it and some dodgy looking website says that you can use your empty tub as an ice bucket or to put clothes pegs in. How wonderful! 

Violet’s monthly (let’s be honest) adult book review looks at a bottom smacker of a dirty book. The aim, as always, is to attempt to answer that cracking question: can a good book ever be as stingy as a good fuck?

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Book title: There’s a Whip in My Valise
Author: Greta X
Introduction: John De St. Jorre
Publisher of this edition: Delectus Books
Copyright: © Delectus Books 1995
First published: 1961
Cover design: image engineering

THE RAUNCH REVIEW: Violet’s Verdict

Quick synopsis: Two Swedish hitchhikers tie up an aristocrat in a wood and whip him until he’s in a pretty bad way and then fuck him. This sadist and nympho combo then leave this dude prostrate in his Rolls-Royce on the hard shoulder and go off to visit their friend who is also a dominatrix and full-time nanny for this rich submissive Danish guy. Meanwhile, this German pain expert and her assistant travel to see this Danish gentleman to give him a going over. It culminates with all five sadistic women thrashing this man like dog until he breaks his chains. 

Title: This book is all about flagellation, so whips are pretty useful for you know this purpose. The sadists in the book have special cases for their whips and crops and spanking paraphernalia, giving the impression that they are professional purveyors of pain for pleasure. Much like doctors with their big leather bag of tricks. The title is pretty good, because it’s colloquial and casual, almost like ‘just so you know’ there’s a mile long whip in my rucksack if you fancy it. 

Cover image: Just wondering why her skirt is so high. Her arse is probably hanging right out. Great thrashing pose. Menacing and yet sexy. 

Best sentences in the book:

No pain could interrupt an ejaculation once it had begun. 

I don’t want you whipping him into impotency. 

He raised his hips and pulled his now flaccid penis out of the blonde’s vagina. 

His penis, with its violent thrusts, seemed to reach up as far as her stomach. 

He felt it nose against the mouth of her passage. 

The tip of the whip curled round him and bit into a testicle. 

She felt as though a hundred fingertips, each charged with electricity, were caressing the whole of her sexual nervous system. 

“And if you look at his trousers as he comes into the room you’ll see he has an erection.”

“Be careful,” he said. “I may be a high-heel fetishist as Marlene says, but I don’t want to be permanently injured.”

She did not know which she wanted more at that moment – to whip, or to push her dildo into someone. 

“Tie up his ball-bag,” said Marlene. 


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Overall sexual content: Very moving in the nethers. 

All that bum smacking and arse whipping is pretty sizzling. It seems to go on for ages, which like climbing a mountain gets you all light headed and wobbly kneed. The women are sexual predators, but it tastes very strongly like the book is written for men to wank over, which spoilt it for me. 

Overall conclusion: 7 out of 10.

Titillation station: There’s a really good bit where all the five sadists and the Danish host are having a slap up meal around his big polished mahogany table. They wrap cord around his big ball bag and cock and yank on this string while he’s trying to eat his soup. It’s pretty fucking funny. And I’ve always had a bit of a thing about fine dining with all those dinner jackets and no trousers. Under the table is where all the raw meats and fleshy thighs are being fingered.  

Food for thought: Sadly Greta X was actually an Englishman of some status and you can tell. The book would be out of this world if it had actually been written either by a woman or for a general delicious reader rather than directed at men. For instance, it’s annoying that there is a great focus on how attractive all the women are, which really isn’t necessary. It also spoils it that all the men are seemingly going along with the submissive thing, they are not totally sold on it. In the end, the Danish guy rips off his shackles whilst he’s been thrashed and starts brutally attacking the women. This is a total no-no. They should have fucking killed him dead. That’s how I wanted it to end.  

P.S. The guy in the Rolls-Royce goes to the police and says he was throttled and sexually assaulted by two men rather than two women. He ends up getting a taste for ‘unusual’ sex because of what happened to him that cold afternoon. I’m not sure it really works like that. 

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The Raunch Review: Book 25

Spring is in the air, my dear! Or that’s what I hear from all those party people that like to blow on about the state of the clouds and the moisture levels and all that, where has the sun gone etc etc. Why is it so chuffing cold? Well, at bloody cock-fucking last, that’s what I say.  

My Valentine’s date went pretty badly, thanks for asking. I’d prefer not to go into the ins and outs, but I will because I can see that you’re pleading with me. The long and short of it is (and he was pretty short, in that department) that I caught norovirus from this guy’s arse. I was getting down to it and I suddenly felt very sick indeed. As sick as a projectile vomiting dog with a chronic shitting disease. Subsequently, I experienced the full force of my failure to consider the general rules on hygiene and respectability. Needless to say, he got out of there sharpish and left me swanning around in my own effluent.

Anyway, I’ve pressure washed the carpets and incinerated the duvet covers, so I’m good to blow on. Violet’s weekly adult book review is back and it’s a eye ball squeezer of a dystopian Sci Fi banger set in little England. The aim, as always, is to attempt to answer that scalding question: can a good book ever be as greasy as a good fuck?

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Book title: The Gas
Author: Charles Platt
Publisher of this edition: Savoy Books Ltd
Copyright: © Charles Platt 1970
First published: 1970
Cover illustration: Harry Douthwaite

THE RAUNCH REVIEW: Violet’s Verdict

Quick synopsis:  An accident in a factory releases a gas, which settles over southern England, and makes everyone go sex mad and/or outrageously violent. In essence, it strips humans and animals of all their inhibitions and pent-up urges. The book follows Vincent, who in part is responsible for the release of the gas, as he tries to get back to his wife and kids in order to take them to Scotland (where the gas can’t reach). 

Title: It does what it says on the tin really. Pretty much sums up what we’re dealing with. The gas happens and nothing will ever be the same again in little England, where everyone is so totally repressed. 

Cover image: The cover is extraordinary and screams FUCK ME I’M A SCI FI CLASSIC. A great example of the crass grisly cover art of that period. The illustration is pretty bestial, aggressive and intimidating, which is an accurate reflection of the shit between the covers. Some strange Medusa like person is dribbling over her own tits, nice. Circles, lots of circles, circles are sexy. 

Best sentence/s in the book:

The aura of sex she was radiating was like sitting next to an electric fire. 

The waves of swelling pleasure emanating from his prick seemed to be coming from the car itself. 

Vincent watched helplessly as the policeman started massaging the dog’s penis, first as if to dispel the pain, but then faster. 

She smelled of sweat and old condoms. 

A party of suburban wives had tied their husbands down naked on the floor in a long line, and were playing a sexual variation of musical chairs on them. 

In the corner, a group of schoolboy plane-spotters had grabbed aircraft models from the check-in counters and were experimentally seeing how far the models’ fuselages would penetrate up each other’s anuses. 

His fingers squelched into her fat, slobbery cunt. 

The priest tried to kneel up, slipped, fell on his side and started shitting uncontrollably. 

He was a red and pink and brown pudding on the floor. 

“I’ve come!” he yelled, jism started rushing up past his face in long, sticky streamers, pulled out of Cathy’s cunt by the roaring wind. 

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Overall sexual content: The book is absolutely crammed with sex and violence. It begins very sexily and then quickly degrades into a sex crazed gore fest. There is a very erotic element to the sex at the beginning of the book, which is urgent and desperate, but not yet totally alienating and hate fuelled. Obviously as the book progresses the sex gets more and more extreme, almost to the point where life no longer matters anymore and sex is used simply as a weapon and orgasm as a means to regaining a small degree of rationality. 

It is very interesting that the sexual anarchy that ensues sees men and women at war with each other. Both men and women seize the opportunity to abuse and violate the opposite sex in a way that implies that that is what they have always wanted but never been brave enough to make happen. 

Overall conclusion: 9 out of 10.

Titillation station: The beginning chapters are right up there on the sexy scales. The sex is hot and titillating, despite the fact that once again men are in the driving seat (metaphorically and literally, lots of sex happens a stolen Rolls Royce) and women are given no choice but to suck it up. However, all the erotic charge of the book dries up instantly as the sex becomes more and more taboo and extreme. 

Food for thought: It is an absolute banger of a book. One of my all time favourites. It’s no wonder that when it was released in the UK in 1980 it was seized by the book police. It is unapologetically rough. In more ways than one. Charles probably wrote it in a week – given the amount of spelling mistakes – and the fact that this writer and journalist in his own right, wrote it for money for the magnificent churner outer of erotic and avant-garde literary fiction Ophelia Press. I’m tempted to read his hands-on non-fiction works on electronics just for kicks. 

There is a big section in the book where Cambridge University students begin kidnapping women to carry out appalling supposedly scientific but totally sexual experiments on them. Most of the descriptions are gratuitous and inherently cruel, with most of the women dying as a result. What is implied here and explicitly stated at one point, is that these men have always felt an inner dislike/threat from female sexuality and take the opportunity in a lawless society to enact horrific acts on women in the name of science, as some sort of fucked up form of revenge for something unsaid/unknown.  

I would have given it the top bollocks (10/10) but the end just deflated my arse before I was satisfied. Sadly, with great ideas sometimes there is no way that the end can live up to the promised climax.

P.S. I wasn’t too keen on the incest stuff even though I get that it’s the big taboo. At least the violence was very obviously horrific, whereas the incest was presented in a loving and sexy way, which was a pretty mouldy dick to swallow. 

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