smut Archives - Page 3 of 3

1 October 2022

The Raunch Review: Book 14

Violet Malice has been digging out the knitwear and gently handling moth balls. The weather has taken a turn this week, from mild to nippy. It seems that September has burnt itself out and everyone’s legs and bottom cheeks have gone into hibernation. Violet has taken to reading late into the morning, under the covers with a steaming cup of tea and some nice biscuits (describing word rather than nice biscuits themselves which are not actually very nice). Sometimes staying in bed is the best we can do. This week’s reading material has been a bitter lid to lick. Like one of those massive tubs of yogurt with a handle that you buy because it makes sense fiscally, but which turns out to taste like absolute fucking shit. Not all books should be easy and soft, some books are better read pushed up against a load-bearing wall. Violet’s weekly adult book review attempts to answer that overpowering question: can a good book ever be as lip suckingly horrifying as a good fuck?

Book title: The Sluts
Author: Dennis Cooper
Publisher of this edition: Carroll & Graf Publishers
Copyright: © Dennis Cooper 2004
First published: Sections first appeared in various literary magazines
Cover photo: David Sprigle

THE RAUNCH REVIEW: Violet’s Verdict

Quick synopsis: The book is made up of a mishmash of reviews from the pages of a website for gay male escorts, message boards and emails. It focuses on the goings on of one particular escort and his sugar daddy, which escalates into a huge steaming paella of horrendously explicit sex practices, lies, fantasies and online posturing.

Title: The Sluts is a pretty wet nosed title, if you ask me, given the absolute depravity in the book. It probably should have been much more hardcore given that most of the activity in the book focuses on extreme S&M and online sex people obsessing over the thought of young twinks being bred and killed.

Cover image: Well lit! Gritty and raw, full frontal, exactly like the insides.

Best sentence/s in the book:

I would have sold my mother into slavery to bury my face in that ass and feel my tongue inside that warm, perfect body.

His years as a heavy bottom have damaged it beyond repair, but you could say the same thing about the Grand Canyon.

I recommend doing him with the lights on because you can stretch the elastic and look all the way into his beautiful, pulsing guts.

He had a reputation among the regulars at the bar as an arrogant creep who charged a ridiculously large fee ($350) to sit on men’s faces and masturbate.

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Overall sexual content: The book is full of extreme sex so it is very harrowing indeed. I had to have a breather on a number of occasions – particularly when towards the end, the young escort that is the focus of the book is castrated and raped, whilst been made to eat his own testicles.

The format and writing style captures the unrestrained and frightening depths of the online world – dark, unaccountable and anonymous. The narrator and every voice in the book is contradicted or exposed to be lying or withholding information, so the book begins to take on a fantasy of its own. Just when you feel as though something might be certain, everything is turned on its head and truth begins to dribble down your inside leg. Is anything true? Is anyone being serious? Is all this just a big collective wank fantasy?

Much like the incel forums of today, which advocate sexual violence against women, there is a monstrously real quality to the sentiments expressed in the book. And even if these individuals are just fantasising about murdering beautiful young escorts and getting off on it – is that in itself OK? What about free speech? If every response is an escalation, if we need harder and harder stimulus, where will it end? Death and destruction? The final curtain. La petite mort pulls itself back together and then snuffs out for good.

The online world has blown up the hornet’s nest of sex and debauchery and our ability to take on new identities and express extreme views to get a reaction. It has enabled us to get unrestricted access to anything we want. Enter conversations and be part of communities that we may not have had access to previously – but this can be positive and negative. Certainly, the book showcases the dangerous quicksand of message boards and online forums, which suck people in and pump violently until all that is left is bleached bones and a bucket of cum.

Overall conclusion: 6 out of 10.

Titillation station: Sawdust and celibacy.

Food for thought: Don’t get me wrong, there is certainly a place for S&M and serious kink. What a beautiful flinching portmanteau of sadism (the pleasure from inflicting pain) and masochism (the pleasure from receiving it). First spewed from those two great fucking writers: sadism comes from the French sadisme named after the Marquis de Sade and masochism from that old bastard English named after Leopold von Sacher-Masoch. The crucial thing about power and submission is the line really. Between perineum and arsehole. The space between the collar. The perspiration between pleasure and pain. Life and death. Fantasy and reality. Art and literature. Anticipation and… At what point do the seams come open and the doors fall off.

We are all shaped by power dynamics. Sex is about power. Sometimes the powerful want to get on their carpet burned fucking knees and dine out on shit and vice versa. But I would suggest that pain and abuse without trust becomes a whole different beast when it makes that leap into the real world.

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23 August 202223 August 2022

The Raunch Review: Book 10

Violet Malice has been reading pulpy paperbacks like nobody’s business this week. Beware of the sex robot. She has been ruminating on the use of keelhauling in the olden days and wondering whether taking the width instead of the length as punishment would be shameful. If you were unlucky enough to survive, of course. On the look out for a bedtime read that gets the sweat glands firing and the deep oval grape getting eaten. Violet’s weekly adult book review attempts to answer that multifaceted question: can a good book ever be as liquid as a good fuck?

Book title: Frankenstein ’69
Author: Ed Martin
Publisher of this edition: The Olympia Press
Copyright: © Ed Martin 1969
Publication date of this edition: 1972
Cover photo: Giles Lagarde

THE RAUNCH REVIEW: Violet’s Verdict

Quick synopsis: A castle-dwelling scientist Ygor and his insatiable wife Hortense (how do you make a whore tense?) conduct sex research on two students. Meanwhile, Ygor finally succeeds in bringing to life three beautiful virgins, constructed from metal pipes and screw bits, otherwise known as Frankensteinesses. The rub comes in the shape of a higher power: Appalled by the fact that one of Ygor’s students has become pregnant, while her virginity remains in tact, which means that she will give birth to an amphibian, the king of the mermaids orders two of his randiest stooges to go and ‘unpregnant’ her. Then it all kicks off – as one might expect.

Title: The title is pretty good – it certainly piqued my interest – even though it doesn’t really fit with the story. Yes – the mad scientist creates some robot sex humans but they are not really human or at least they are not made from human body parts like Frankenstein’s monster. Although Ygor and his wife do find themselves disgusted by their creations, and have to runaway on several occasions, because the sex robots won’t stop having sex with them or each other. It’s likely the title was given to Ed Martin before he’d started writing.

The ’69 aspect presumably relates to the year it was written. Although I like to think it refers to all the long flowery descriptions of oral hygiene and sexy root canals littering the pages. I think at least 83% of the book is dedicated to the art of facetime or facedowntime. Like right down there. Up the guts.

Cover image: Beautiful. Iconic. What’s not to like? Although, she could be in a morgue or on a butcher’s slab. And the necklace – from far away – could look like her head has been sewn on. Much like Frankenstein’s creature. But he was a hideous amalgam of corpses remember. Not a rosebud about to be introduced to a force 5 (Beaufort scale, yeah).

Best sentence/s in the book:

“I’d love to screw something up your asshole and ram it in and out until you come like a fucking fountain.”

“If his nuts got any higher he might, as they say a bit coarsely, spray his fuck.”

“Hey, big-tits, swim over here and suck my cock.”

“You keep that up, baby, and I’m going to come off in your hand.”

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Overall sexual content: The BEST book I have ever read!

Not only is the sex amazing and glorious and poetically written, but it’s funny and warm and sticky and celebratory.

All of the characters love sex. All of the genitals receive a great deal of attention – literal and metaphorical. The mermaids have cocks and pussies and everybody gets off all of the time. Relentlessly. Gratuitously.

I’ve never read sex writing as good as this! I don’t know what else to say.

Even the bits about beastiality – when one of the mermaids has sex with a horse – are fucking ace-in-the-hole. Or when the virgin fucks herself with a log because she’s that way inclined.

Overall conclusion: 9.9 out of 10.

Titillation station: Liquid decadence has never felt this good. It used to smell like a hungry rainforest and now it smells like a sweaty man with a frothing mouth organ. I’m talking chocolate habanero (Scoville scale, alright).

Food for thought: This book is like if Shakespeare wrote some porn and wasn’t such a hairy conservative arsecrack, i.e. the dialogue and the description are fucking outstanding. As an example – because I can tell you’re doubting me – here are a few gems:

go ahead cook your tits —— (this had me literally pissing the bed)

a kind of relaxed mid-afternoon casual spontaneous prolonged fuck in the garden ———- (Jesus couldn’t have strung it out better)

they call the king of the mermaids a different term of formal address throughout the book, including: Your Quivering Prostate; His Permanent Erection; Centurion of Cuntjuice; Rector of Rectums; The Gaping Shaved Pussy; Master of the Triple Come; you get the picture…

What a gloriously fun book! The fantastical element – the mermaids and shit – is perfectly balanced in order to allow the reader to dip their toe into the deep dark pool of perversion without being pulled under. The virgin sex robot dolls element enables the writer to present sex from an entirely innocent and curious perspective without again careering into anything uncomfortable. And it makes for some great comedy:

Carole [the brunette sex robot] was still stretched out on the table. She had her pussy peeled down and was trying to fish inside for loose wires. “Someone has just got to fix my pussy,” she wails. And then later on she astutely observes: “Oh look, I’m getting the shit fucked out of me!”

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25 June 202225 June 2022

The Raunch Review: Book 4

Violet Malice has been sucked inside another work of erotica this week. Like walking into a wardrobe for a fresh vest and finding yourself in a dark room in Berghain with a sex wolf sniffing at your privates. Keen to find a bedtime read that cuts the mustard and dabs it lovingly around the perineum. Violet’s weekly adult book review attempts to answer that insatiable question: can a good book ever be as tactile as a good fuck?

Book title: Bondage Trash
Author: Jon Horn
First published: 1968

THE RAUNCH REVIEW: Violet’s Verdict

Quick synopsis: The book presents a collection of supposedly factual documentation on a dystopian sex crazed society where nothing is off limits. There are no real plot lines, just disconnected chapters of content detailing all manner of sexual deviancy. In Part Two of the book it switches from ‘The Material’ to ‘The Dossier’ where certain extreme cases/patients are analysed and pulled apart by anonymous state-backed medical professionals. The book is dominated (pun intended) by sadomasochism, power and cruelty, almost as if this sick society is so full of hate fucks that absolutely no other feelings exist anymore.

Front cover: Some nice chains. Like it. Words like restraint, cold, hard, metal and capitalism come to mind.

Title: Probably one of the best book titles ever. Two words that twist and writhe against each other. Both things I like: bondage and trash. Certainly, the title and cover image made me want to read the book on a busy train on the underground. Holding the book proudly just below my lips to slightly obscure my lime boobtube from all the Financial Times reading professionals squeezed into their mohair business suits.

Best two-word phrase in the book: In all honesty way too many to choose from. Here are a few gems: semen crystals, goats’ rectums, unmarried gynaecologists, cornflake face, swallow girls, dream cunt, aphrodisiac cocktails, champagne fellatio, pink traffic, ambulating climax, wild scrotum, musky aphrodizzy, gonadal goo, gastric surroundings.

Best hyphens: Pudenda-bender [the perfect precursor to my poem Tinder Bender!! which you can purchase for cold hard currency here], peeping-Tomism, fuck-and-suck, genitourinary-world-view, sex-police.

Best sentence/s in the book: Brace yourself please:

He finally confessed that he collects slices of sausage, preserves them, each slice in a glass jar, and indulges in onanistic and instructive fantasies.

He saw a girl in a white dress spattered with mud from a passing car one day and had an erection.

Kisses and caresses, a state of rapport; the old rich fart sans pajamas jacks off in a hat and his clique follows suit, their jackulations join like merging streams of milk of magnesia, disturbing transports showering applause on the two girls revealed now in successful and aesthetic union, auras of cunnilingual crescendo shimmering through the rainbow of the semen spray, wriggling gold limbs rippling with orgasmic spasms of fury from French aristocrats, old dowagers, hommes des lettres, and danseuses… arms and fingers grasping flesh.

Clara appeared with her hubby on a golden leash; hubby wore falsies, was obviously crotch-bound under a flimsy and soiled bikini bottom, had a maniacal queen expression and smelled of pancake makeup and scum.

I came all over the corset-torture brochure and checked the time.

The removal of the clitoris was ordered for all torture girls working the street by legislation proposed by the once notorious CUNT (cartel of the uninhibited nymph-tormentresses).

The wife stared at us with haughty flashy glazed eyes, like a queen watching two monkeys doing it.

Best paragraph in the book: On our wedding night he forced a coconut custard pie into my hands without any expression of endearment and told me to throw it at his face. I complied, though puzzled, and watched him have an immediate orgasm. We were nude. I had expected thrills. But this! And then he brought out a second pie – I had wondered why he had brought two pies into our bridal suite – and, when he had wiped the pie off his face and the come off his prick, he told me to throw the second pie at his ass, and turned around. Naturally I was indignant. He slapped me, hard. So I obeyed him, and watched him come again. Then he was nice to me for a while. Later I realised he was only buttering me up for the main event: I had to lather up his chest with shaving cream, straddling and sitting on him to do it, and then I had to shave his chest slowly, while he got an erection. Then – can you believe it? – he wanted me to shit on his chest! Luckily I hadn’t taken a shit since after the wedding rehearsal the day before, so I could provide him with the biggest kick; otherwise he would have been mean, like he was on nights when I just didn’t have it for him, later on. He was always nice to me just before and just after. But what about me? I asked him. I wasn’t having any fun. This he always ignored. He never wanted to enter my body in any way, and though I disported myself quite lewdly for a while in the beginning, hoping to arouse his interest in my cunt or at least my armpit (for such were my desires), he only got itchy for pies and the chest-shit again.

Story of my life!

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Sexual content: Great writer obviously. Very very very funny. The book is a barrage of extreme sex. Disassociated, unrelenting and frenzied. A society that seems bereft of all generosity. No one seems to have fulfilling sex, and even though they climax, they are left wanting something more, something worse. However much they come together, they seem to get further and further apart. Desperation leads to an insatiable appetite to fight loneliness through the abuse of others. So sadly the book is in no way titillating and I am sure Jon Horn didn’t intend it to be.

It goes without saying that if you want to present a sick sex fuelled society, alienating and shocking the reader are probably a good way to blow.

Overall conclusion: 8 out of 10.

Glorious full-on assault of trash and dirty dirty filth. Superb book for anyone that loves literature and great funny writing. Less so if you are in it for those lovely warm feelings or want to see S&M presented in a creamier less offensive sauce.

Titillation station: Two hander. No need for sitting on any limbs here.

Food for thought: It makes me think of a sexy Bladerunner with Harrison Ford impounding Rutger’s athletic body in some sort of medical facility to try and understand why no one has any feelings any more aside from the fleeting obliteration of orgasm. Perfect ending!

shit fuck cunt (dies)

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13 June 202213 June 2022

The Raunch Review: Hot Book Review 3

Violet Malice has devoured yet another work of hot hot hot erotica this week. Carefully turning the pages on, every evening as June winds its way up and down, repeatedly, again and again, without fail. On the hunt for a bedtime read that feels like silk and sunshine and sucks like quicksand. Violet’s weekly adult book review attempts to answer that gurning question: can a good book ever be as smoking HOT as a good fuck?

Book title: Darling
Author: Harriet Daimler (Iris Owens)
First published: 1956

THE RAUNCH REVIEW: Violet’s Verdict

Quick synopsis: Gloria, a self-proclaimed ‘refrigerated cunt’ living in New York, is raped by a man with a bad leather jacket. This event turns her into a raging nymphomaniac. Obviously, it goes without saying that a total nympho is unable to satisfy her sexual desire. Ahem. The story tracks Gloria’s lust fueled journey of middling sex and frustration as well as her desperate hunt to find her rapist whom she wants to fuck and kill.

Front cover: A jolly front cover, which is wholly inappropriate. Like putting a cartoon horse on a book about hand, foot and mouth disease. The book is in no way jolly or throwaway. It is hardcore. Both in terms of the storyline and the frequent unquenchable sex that takes place between the covers. If I was designing the front cover I would go for a close-up of a bear trap in some woods with a pair of frilly knickers inside and the severed leg of some leather clad sex offender who has badly misjudged his prey.

Title: Again, wholly inappropriate. Darling suggests some flimsy book about nice sexy sex and nice sexy wives having nice sex and nice biscuits. Most of the men that Gloria fucks call her ‘darling’ during intercourse, which is probably the reason for the pathetic title.

Best two-word phrase in the book: Sanitary fucking and/or indestructible erection.

Best over use of a hyphen: Sea-and-sperm-drenched.

Best sentence/s in the book: Lots and lots of appalling erotic writing. Below are a few favourites –

His hopeful immense erection had wilted like a sick plant on his leg.

I’m gonna dig so deep into your ass, you’ll taste my come on your tongue.

You think this horse opera we carry on is love?

He used her as he would a life-sized sponge with a few openings.

His eyes were like milky white sperm. Probably his whole body filled with sperm up to the top of his head, and his prick his only exit.

Sexual content: Legend has it that the founder of Olympia Press – the one and only – Maurice Girodias asked Daimler to “tone it down a bit love”. Apparently, he said that it wasn’t necessary for every page to be sexual. I’d like to read the original. In my book, there’s no such thing as too much hot sauce on one’s furry breakfast cereal.

The sex is well drawn and vivid. Hot and hungry. Funny and frenzied. It does tip over slightly into the world of fantasy, which is more often the case with sex books, because ultimately the aim is to turn up the gas on the sex cooker rather than tell a coherent and believable story. (Some bores might say that all good sex is fantasy. Or at least that fantasy makes better sex.)

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Overall conclusion: 8 out of 10. A must-read. Far from perfect but without doubt an unappreciated masterbeast. Starts off rocky but finds its feet. Feeds the hungry mouths as well as the mind. Very obviously written extremely quickly and as such would have benefited from more time wanking over it. Despite the difficult plotline, the book has multiple levels: (1) it can just be a good fuck book – some people think it’s a very explicit rape fantasy, (2) however I think there is a really challenging subtext about rape and sexual desire.

Gloria hunts down and kills her rapist – the man with the white eyes – and despite her questions to try and spark his recognition as she seduces and eventually kills him – that he has been to her flat before that he has felt her body before, he does not remember her. He treated her as an object. An orifice. She returns the favour.

Throughout the book there are some very powerful observations that are left there for the reader to steam past or ponder, whatever you desire. There’s a real art in that. You can lick the cream straight off the top or dig deeper into the trifle.

Titillation station: Thumbs up the wank bank!

Food for thought: Female writers of erotica are like hen’s tits. What agro-smut from the seemingly unassuming! I am pleased Iris Owens didn’t use a male pen name. I am pleased that the book is so unapologetic and frayed around the edges. I am pleased that Gloria kills the fucking a-hole in the end. I am pleased that the characters are all flawed and grotesque and thrash about the page. I am very pleased that this book exists.

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